HE MASTER said:
‘I have planted the Seed of a Tree,
It shall be strangely fed
With white dew and with red,
And the Gardeners shall be three--
Regret, Hope, Memory!’
 
The Master smiled:
For the Seed that He had set
Broke presently thro’ the mould,
With a glimmer of green and gold,
And the Angels’ eyes were wet--
Hope, Memory, Regret.
 
The Master cried:
‘It liveth--breatheth--see!
Its soft lips open wide--
It looks from side to side--
How strange they gleam on me,
The little dim eyes of the Tree!’
 
The Master said:
‘After a million years,
The Seed I set and fed
To itself hath gatherèd
All the world’s smiles and tears--
How mighty it appears!’
 
The Master said:
‘At last, at last, I see
A Blossom, a Blossom o’ red
From the heart of the Tree is shed.
’Tis fairer certainly
Than the Tree, or the leaves of the Tree.'
 
The Master cried:
‘O Angels, that guard the Tree,
A Blossom, a Blossom divine
Grows on this greenwood of mine:
What may this Blossom be?
Name this Blossom to me!’
 
The Master smiled;
For the Angels answered thus:
‘Our tears have nourish’d the same,
We have given it a name
That seemeth fit to us--
We have called it Spiritus.’
 
The Master said:
‘This Flower no Seed shall bear;
But hither on a day
My beautiful Son shall stray,
And shall snatch it unaware,
And wreath it in his hair.’
 
The Master smiled:
‘The Tree shall never bear--
Seedless shall perish the Tree,
But the Flower my Son’s shall be;
He will pluck the Flower and wear,
Till it withers in his hair!’
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