n your old
twigs, does it not? They seem to crack for very joy! Sleep sweetly,
sleep sweetly! It's your three hundred and sixty-fifth night. Properly
speaking, you're only a stripling as yet! Sleep sweetly! The clouds
strew down snow, there will be quite a coverlet, warm and protecting,
around your feet. Sweet sleep to you, and pleasant dreams!"

And the Oak Tree stood there, denuded of all its leaves, to sleep
through the long winter, and to dream many a dream, always about
something that had happened to it, just as in the dreams of men.

The great Oak had once been small--indeed, an acorn had been its
cradle. According to human computation, it was now in its fourth
century. It was the greatest and best tree in the forest; its crown
towered far above all the other trees, and could be descried from
afar across the sea, so that it served as a landmark to the sailors:
the tree had no idea how many eyes were in the habit of seeking it.
High up in its green summit the wood-pigeon built her nest, and the
cuckoo sat in its boughs, and sang his song; and in autumn, when the
leaves looked like thin plates of copper, the birds of passage came
and rested there, before they flew away across the sea; but now it was
winter, and the tree stood there leafless, so that every one could see
how gnarled and crooked the branches were that shot forth from its
trunk. Crows and rooks came and took their seat by turns in the
boughs, and spoke of the hard times which were beginning, and of the
difficulty of getting a living in winter.

It was just at the holy Christmas time, when the tree dreamed its most
glorious dream.

The tree had a distinct feeling of the festive time, and fancied he
heard the bells ringing from the churches all around; and yet it
seemed as if it were a fine summer's day, mild and warm. Fresh and
green he spread out his mighty crown; the sunbeams played among the
twigs and the leaves; the air was full of the fragrance of herbs and
blossoms; gay butterflies chased each other to and fro. The ephemeral
insects danced as if all the world were created merely for them to
dance and be merry in. All that the tree had experienced for years and
years, and that had happened around him, seemed to pass by him again,
as in a festive pageant. He saw the knights of ancient days ride by
with their noble dames on gallant steeds, with plumes waving in their
bonnets and falcons on their wrists. The hunting horn sounded, and the
dogs bark