The Old Oak Tree's Last Dream

The day was long and beautiful, full of happiness and sweet experiences, and by sunset the little May fly was pleasantly weary from all the excitement. Its dainty wings would no longer support it; very gently it glided down onto the cool, rocking blades of grass, nodded its head as a May fly can, and fell into a very peaceful slumber; it was dead.

"Poor little May fly," said the Oak; "that was really too short a life!"

And every summer day was repeated the same dance, the same question, the same answer, and the same peaceful falling asleep; it happened through many generations of May flies, and all of them were lighthearted and happy.

The Oak stood wide-awake through its spring morning, its summer noon, and autumn evening; soon now it would be sleeping time, the tree's night, for winter was coming. Already the winds were singing, "Good night! Good night! There falls a leaf; there falls a leaf! We plucked it, we plucked it! See that you go to sleep! We will sing you to sleep, we will rock you to sleep! Surely it will do your old limbs good. They crackle from pure contentment. Sleep sweetly, sleeep sweetly! This is your three hundred and sixty-fifth night, but you are really only a yearling! Sleep sweetly! The skies are sprinkling snow; it will spread a warm coverlet over your feet. Sleep sweetly and have pleasant dreams!"

And now the great Oak stood stripped of its foliage, ready to rest throughout the long winter, and in its sleep to dream of something that had happened to it, just as men dream.

The tree had once been very small; yes, an acorn had been its cradle. According to human calculation, it was now in its fourth century; it was the tallest and mightiest tree in the forest; its crown towered high above all the other trees and could be seen far out at sea, where it served as a landmark to ships. The Oak had never thought of how many eyes sought it out from the watery distance. High up in its green crown the wood doves had built their nests, and there the cuckoo made its voice heard; and in the autumn, when its leaves looked like hammered-out copper plates, the birds of passage rested awhile there before flying on across the seas.