Dear friends, there is a tale, The oak one day said to the reed: You have good reason to curse nature — A simple sparrow for you is a heavy burden. The slightest wind that by chance Makes the face of the water ripple Forces you to lower your head. However my own forehead, Not content to stop the rays of the sun, Braves the effort of the storm. Still if you were born under the shelter of the foliage With which I cover my surroundings, You would not have to suffer so much. I would defend you from the storm. But you are most often born On the damp edges of the realms of the wind. Nature towards you seems to me very unjust. — Your compassion, replied the shrub, Part of a good nature; but leaves this worry: The winds are less formidable to me than to you. I bend, and do not break. You have hitherto Against their dreadful blows Resisted without bending your back; But let's stay: