THE PINE PLANTERS

We work here together

In blast and breeze;

He fills the earth in,

I hold the trees.

He does not notice

That what I do

Keeps me from moving

And chills me through.

He has seen one fairer

I feel by his eye,

Which skims me as though

I were not by.

And since she passed here

He scarce has known

But that the woodland

Holds him alone.

I have worked here with him

Since morning shine,

He busy with his thoughts

And I with mine.

I have helped him so many,

So many days,

But never win any

Small word of praise!

Shall I not sigh to him

That I work on

Glad to be nigh to him

Though hope is gone?

Nay, though he never

Knew love like mine,

I'll bear it ever

And make no sign!

From the bundle at hand here

I take each tree,

And set it to stand, here

Always to be;

When, in a second,

As if from fear

Of Life unreckoned

Beginning here,

It starts a sighing

Through day and night,

Though while there lying

‘ Twas voiceless quite.

It will sigh in the morning,

Will sigh at noon,

At the winter's warning,

In wafts of June;

Grieving that never

Kind Fate decreed

It should for ever

Remain a seed,

And shun the welter

Of things without,

Unneeding shelter

From storm and drought.

Thus, all unknowing

For whom or what

We set it growing

In this bleak spot,

It still will grieve here

Throughout its time,

Unable to leave here,

Or change its clime;

Or tell the story

Of us to-day

When, halt and hoary,

We pass away.