Chapter XI.
On the origin of trees: and therein of the rose, which first grew without thorns, but afterward became bristly, and has become a mirror of our life.
We have spoken about the grass of hay, now let us speak about the fruitful wood that produces fruit according to its kind, whose seed is in itself. He spoke and it became, and suddenly, as above with flowers and the greenness of herbs, so here the earth was clothed with forests. The trees gathered together, the woods arose, the tops of the mountains suddenly became covered in foliage. From here the pine tree and the cypress raised themselves to the heights, the cedars and firs gathered together. The fir tree, not content with earthly roots and an airy summit, also ventured to brave the dangers of the sea with secure rowing, contending not only with winds but also with waves. And the laurel, rising up, gave forth its fragrance, never to be stripped of its covering. The shady oaks also raised their tops, preserving their shaggy hair even in winter. For nature granted this privilege to each of them individually, which they received when the world was created, and thus their prerogative remains with the oaks, it remains with the cypresses, so that no wind may strip them of the glory of their foliage.
Before the flowers rose, the rose was mixed with earthly thorns without any deceit, and the most beautiful flower bloomed without any fraud. Afterwards, the thorn concealed the grace of the flower, like a mirror of human life, which often pricks its sweetness with neighboring stimuli of cares. For the elegance of our life is surrounded by certain anxieties, so that sadness is joined to grace. Therefore, when each person rejoices either in the sweetness of reason or in the successes of a prosperous course, it is fitting for him to remember the fault through which the thorns of the mind and the brambles of the soul have been duly assigned to us who flourish in the delightful paradise. Therefore, it is useless, o man, whether in the splendor of nobility, or the height of power, or the brilliance of virtue, there is always a thorn next to you, always prickly, always looking down on your lower parts, you grow upon thorns, and no prolonged grace remains: quickly, everyone withers in the flower of their age.