v

The bee pills nothing for himself,

Loading with gold his thigh,

The martin twittering, at his shelf,

Glancing from the sky

Not greedy ease make slaves of these;

Nor yet endures the cow,

Her failing knees and agonies

For price of joy I vow.

A call above the spell of love,

A crying and a need

To make two one, the fruit whereof

To nurture and to feed;

To brood, to hoard, to spend as rain

Virtue and tears and blood;

To get that you may give amain —

Of such is parenthood.