The Pruned Branch It is the branch that bears the fruit,That feels the knife;To prune it for a larger growth,A fuller life,Though every budding twig be lopped, And every graceOf swaying tendril, springing leafBe lost a space.O thou, whose life of joy seems reft,Of beauty shorn,Whose aspirations lie in dust,All bruised and torn,Rejoice, though each desire, each dream,Each hope of thine,Shall fall and fade;...
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