"Oh, if I were only as great a tree as the other!" sighed the little
Fir, "then I would spread my branches far around, and look out from
my crown into the wide world. The birds would then build nests in
my boughs, and when the wind blew I could nod just as grandly as the
others yonder."
It took no pleasure in the sunshine, in the birds, and in the red
clouds that went sailing over him morning and evening.
When it was winter, and the snow lay all around, white and sparkling,
a hare would often come jumping along, and spring right over the
little Fir Tree. Oh! this made him so angry. But two winters went by,
and when the third came the little Tree had grown so tall that the
hare was obliged to run round it.
"Oh! to grow, to grow, and become old; that's the only fine thing in
the world," thought the Tree.
In the autumn woodcutters always came and felled a few of the largest
trees; that was done this year too, and the little Fir Tree, that was
now quite well grown, shuddered with fear, for the great stately trees
fell to the ground with a crash, and their branches were cut off,
so that the trees looked quite naked, long, and slender--they could
hardly be recognized.
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