I bear a basket lined with grass.
I' am so' light' and fair'
Men are amazed to watch me pass
With' the básket I bear',
Which in newly drawn green litter
Carries treats of sweet for bitter.

See my lilies: lilies none,
None in Caesar's garden blow.
Quínces, look', when' not one'
Is set in any orchard; no,
Not set because their buds not spring;
Spring not for world is wintering.

But' they came' from' the South',
Where winter-while is all forgot.—
The dew-bell in the mallow's mouth
Is' it quenchèd or not'?
In starry, starry shire it grew:
Which' is it', star' or dew'?—

That a quince I pore upon?
O no it is the sizing moon.
Now her mallow-row is gone
In tufts of evening sky.— So soon?
Sphered so fast, sweet soul?— We see
Fruit nor flower nor Dorothy.

How to name it, blessed it!
Suiting its grace with him or her?
Dorothea—or was your writ
Sérvéd bý méssenger'?
Your parley was not done and there!
You went into the partless air.

It waned into the world of light,
Yet made its market here as well:
My eyes hold yet the rinds and bright
Remainder of a miracle.
O this is bringing! Tears may swarm
Indeed while such a wonder's warm.

Ah dip in blood the palmtree pen
And wordy warrants are flawed through.
More will wear this wand and then
The warpèd world we shall undo.
Proconsul!— Is Sapricius near?—
I find another Christian here.

Have you been in our wild west country? then
You have often had to pass
Its cabins lying like birds' nests in
The wild green prairie grass.

Have you seen the women forget their wheels
As they sat at the door to spin —
Have you seen the darning fall away
From their fingers worn and thin,

As they asked you news of the villages
Where they were used to be,
Gay girls at work in the factories
With their lovers gone to sea!

Ah, have you thought of the bravery
That no loud praise provokes —
Of the tragedies acted in the lives
Of poor, hard-working folks!

Of the little more, and the little more
Of hardship which they press
Upon their own tired hands to make
The toil for the children less:

And not in vain; for many a lad
Born to rough work and ways,
Strips off his ragged coat, and makes
Men clothe him with their praise.