An
Epitaph for a Husbandman
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He who
would start and rise
Before the crowing cocks—
No more he lifts his eyes,
Whoever knocks.
He who before the stars
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5 |
Would
call the cattle home,—
They wait about the bars
For him to come.
Him at whose hearty calls
The farmstead woke again
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10 |
The
horses in their stalls
Expect in vain.
Busy, and blithe, and bold,
He laboured for the morrow,—
The plough his hands would hold
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15 |
| Rusts
in the furrow.
His fields he had to leave,
His orchards cool and
dim;
The clods he used to cleave
Now cover him.
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20 |
But the green, growing things
Lean kindly to his sleep,—
White roots and wandering strings,
Closer they creep.
Because he loved them long
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25 |
And
with them bore his part,
Tenderly now they throng
About his heart. |
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