The road ran sloping through the trees
Below the dusty hill;
The sun, swept inward by the breeze,
Lightened the running rill.

Maples and chestnuts stood along
And autumn, at the prime,
Strewed nuts and leafage that belong
To this September time.

One tree was green beside the way,
A small white pine, I thought;
And there a broken branch and gray
Within a fork had caught.

It showed unlovely on the tree
As dark and dead it lay;
'And in my spleen I smiled' to see
That symbol of decay.

But my companion did not show
Such sympathy as mine!
He mounted up the tree, to throw
Its burden from the pine.

I cried, 'Why will you not believe
That nature's ways suffice
To nature's purposes and leave
Her to her own device?

'She knows her purpose for the pine
And does not need the aid
Of wisdom such as yours and mine
In plans which she has made.'

He cast it down and answered, 'Why,
Ev'n as I am a man,
In doing this, believe me, I
Am part of nature's plan!'

I smiled again but not in joy,
In fear; for where it lay,
The branches covered, to destroy,
A purple aster spray!

My friend was pleased; not he divined
That though he was a man,
To be content we must be blind;
For such is nature's plan.