And now that I have learned how love

Roots deep and deeper in the heart,

And lifts root's counterpart

Higher and greener-spreading every spring,

Until

I have no will

In love, but crow with what the seasons bring,

I also know that hate

Roots deep, grows great.

There is no longer any use to hope

That one low bough will spring out straight.

It took its downward slope,

And with the rain, the soil, the very sun

And summer by which love is green and strong,

My hate twists crosswise, still as wrong

On the tree as when it was begun.

The time therefore is good

To put axe to the wood,

And like the forester who sees

straightness best in trees,

Cut off the bough and throw it on the ground

To make the tree grow sound,

To let it give love's grace and breadth and length

A single strength.