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He makes his way with speed and ease Through woods that show the noonday star; The moss-grown trunks of oldest trees
His lettered guide-boards are.
The tameless bee he follows home;
With all its trickling sweets.
The gnarly vine no vintner binds,
His drinking-cup a gourd.
Lacks he a roof? - the withe he bends,
A soft and fragrant bed.
Lacks he a fire? - the kindling spark
And that he
be, He carves a flute whose yearning tones, Upon a summer eve set free,
Wake love in clods and stones.
“ How shall I liken thee, reed of my
choice, Spirit-like, fugitive, wavering voice?"
“I am an oread lost to the hills,
Sick for the mountain wind tossing my rills;
“ How wast thou taken, sweet, lost to the hills,
Footprints of thine no more seen by the rills ? "
“Quickly I answer thee: Sorrow came by, Made me her foster-child, loving my cry!”
THE WILD SOWER.
Up and down the land I go,
Through the valley, over hill; Many a pleasant ground I sow,
Never one I reap or till ; Fan and flail I never wield, Leave no hayrick in the field.
with leathern scrip, Fills the harrowed earth with seed; In the selfsame score I slip
Germs of many a lusty weed.
possess nor bin nor sack.
He sows wheat, and I sow tare,
Rain and sunshine second toil; Tame and wild these acres share,
Wrestling for the right of soil. I stand by and clap my hands, Cheering on my urchin bands.
Mine the cockle in rye,
THE WILD SOWER.
And the daisy's white-fringed eye,
And the dodder's endless twine ; Mine those fingers five that bind Every blade and stalk they find.
Mine the lilies, hot and bright,
Setting summer meads on fire;
Spinning Autumn's soft attire.
Whoso fleeth to the woods,
Whoso buildeth on the plains,
Leading on my hardy trains :
Many serve me, unaware,
Shaggy herds that ceaseless roam,
Passing to their winter home;
Thus, a sower wild, I go,
Trafficking with every clime ;
harvest-time; Otherwise, ye toil-stooped men, Eden's ease were come again !