No More Learning

Well might the plant grow beautiful and strong,
Even if the air and sun had smiled not on it;
For one wept o'er it all the winter long
Tears pure as Heaven's rain, which fell upon it _70
Hour after hour; for sounds of softest song
Mixed with the stringed           that won it
To leave the gentle lips on which it slept,
Had loosed the heart of him who sat and wept.