The Foolish Fir-Tree

A tale that the poet Rueckert toldTo German children, in days of old;Disguised in a random, rollicking rhymeLike a merry mummer of ancient time,And sent, in its English dress, to pleaseThe little folk of the Christmas trees.

A little fir grew in the midst of the woodContented and happy, as young trees should.His body was straight and his boughs were clean;And summer and winter the bountiful sheenOf his needles bedecked him, from top to root,In a beautiful, all-the-year, evergreen suit.

But a trouble came into his heart one day,When he saw that the other trees were gayIn the wonderful raiment that summer weavesOf manifold shapes and kinds of leaves:He looked at his needles so stiff and small,And thought that his dress was the poorest of all.Then jealousy clouded the little tree's mind,And he said to himself, "It was not very kindTo give such an ugly old dress to a tree!If the fays of the forest would only ask me,I'd tell them how I should like to be dressed,--In a garment of gold, to bedazzle the rest!"So he fell asleep, but his dreams were bad.When he woke in the morning, his heart was glad;For every leaf that his boughs could holdWas made of the brightest beaten gold.I tell you, children, the tree was proud;He was something above the common crowd;And he tinkled his leaves, as if he would sayTo a pedlar who happened to pass that way,"Just look at me! Don't you think I am fine?And wouldn't you like such a dress as mine?""Oh, yes!" said the man, "and I really guessI must fill my pack with your beautiful dress."So he picked the golden leaves with care,And left the little tree shivering there.

"Oh, why did I wish for golden leaves?"The fir-tree said, "I forgot that thievesWould be sure to rob me in passing by.If the fairies would give me another try,I'd wish for something that cost much less,And be satisfied with glass for my dress!"Then he fell asleep; and, just as before,The fairies granted his wish once more.When the night was gone, and the sun rose clear,The tree was a crystal chandelier;And it seemed, as he stood in the morning light,That his branches were covered with jewels bright."Aha!" said the tree. "This is something great!"And he held himself up, very proud and straight;But a rude young wind through the forest dashed,In a reckless temper, and quickly smashedThe delicate leaves. With a clashing soundThey broke into pieces and fell on the ground,Like a silvery, shimmering shower of hail,And the tree stood naked and bare to the gale.

Then his heart was sad; and he cried, "AlasFor my beautiful leaves of shining glass!Perhaps I have made another mistakeIn choosing a dress so easy to break.If the fairies only would hear me againI'd ask them for something both pretty and plain:It wouldn't cost much to grant my request,--In leaves of green lettuce I'd like to be dressed!"By this time the fairies were laughing, I know;But they gave him his wish in a second; and soWith leaves of green lettuce, all tender and sweet,The tree was arrayed, from his head to his feet."I knew it!" he cried, "I was sure I could findThe sort of a suit that would be to my mind.There's none of the trees has a prettier dress,And none as attractive as I am, I guess."But a goat, who was taking an afternoon walk,By chance overheard the fir-tree's talk.So he came up close for a nearer view;--"My salad!" he bleated, "I think so too!You're the most attractive kind of a tree,And I want your leaves for my five-o'clock tea."So he ate them all without saying grace,And walked away with a grin on his face;While the little tree stood in the twilight dim,With never a leaf on a single limb.

Then he sighed and groaned; but his voice was weak--He was so ashamed that he could not speak.He knew at last he had been a fool,To think of breaking the forest rule,And choosing a dress himself to please,Because he envied the other trees.But it couldn't be helped, it was now too late,He must make up his mind to a leafless fate!So he let himself sink in a slumber deep,But he moaned and he tossed in his troubled sleep,Till the morning touched him with joyful beam,And he woke to find it was all a dream.For there in his evergreen dress he stood,A pointed fir in the midst of the wood!His branches were sweet with the balsam smell,His needles were green when the white snow fell.And always contented and happy was he,--The very best kind of a Christmas tree.