The tender tree-- o’ wooden babe--
Blooms fruit of Simple Thought.
Here sweetest wishes ripen
By uncaring hands ne’er wrought.

Tender hands tend tender tree--
How foolish they must seem!
Those who care for wishes;
Those who pray upon a dream.

So long sweet fruit did fall
Untouched but by the ground
Undreaming-- you are lost
By simple mystery confound.