( TO E. S. V.)

We come from the laurels and daffodils

Down to the homestead under the fell,

We’ ve gathered our hunger upon the hills,

And that is well.

Howbeit to-morrow gives or takes,

And leads to barren or flowering ways,

We’ ve a linen cloth and wheaten cakes,

For which be praise.

Here in the valley at lambing-time

The shepherd folk of their watching tell

While the shadows up to the beacon climb,

And that is well.

Let be what may when we make an end

Of the laughter and labour of all our days

We’ ve men to friend and women to friend,

For whom be praise.