of anything prettier than we are, you old willow-tree?"
And the willow-tree nodded his head, as if he would say,
"Indeed I do."
But the buckwheat spread itself out with pride, and said,
"Stupid tree; he is so old that grass grows out of his body."
There arose a very terrible storm. All the field-flowers
folded their leaves together, or bowed their little heads,
while the storm passed over them, but the buckwheat stood
erect in its pride. "Bend your head as we do," said the
flowers.
"I have no occasion to do so," replied the buckwheat.
"Bend your head as we do," cried the ears of corn; "the
angel of the storm is coming; his wings spread from the sky
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above to the earth beneath. He will strike you down before you
can cry for mercy."
"But I will not bend my head," said the buckwheat.
"Close your flowers and bend your leaves," said the old
willow-tree. "Do not look at the lightning when the cloud
bursts; even men cannot do that. In a flash of lightning
heaven opens, and we can look in; but the sight will strike
even human beings blind. What then must happen to us, who only
grow out of the earth, and are so inferior to them, if we
venture to do so?"
"Inferior, indeed!" said the buckwheat. "Now I intend to
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