THE WORKER
173
Heap the pillows for others! Let their thews grow slack with resting!
The daisies wake to my passing feet as I take to the field again:
I have seen the brown hawk pouncing; the towers of the scrub-hen's nesting;
I have bared my head to the breezes, I have bowed my head to the rain.
The daisies wake to my passing feet as I take to the field again:
I have seen the brown hawk pouncing; the towers of the scrub-hen's nesting;
I have bared my head to the breezes, I have bowed my head to the rain.
Give to the king his purple—that other men have paid for—
The long grass bends before me in the shade of the unclipt bough.
I earn whatever I gather. One boon alone I have prayed for
Until the last red sunset . . . Lord! Keep my hand to the plough!
The long grass bends before me in the shade of the unclipt bough.
I earn whatever I gather. One boon alone I have prayed for
Until the last red sunset . . . Lord! Keep my hand to the plough!
