The trees rustle; the wind blows <br />Merrily out of the town; <br />The shadows creep, the sun goes <br />Steadily over and down. <br /> <br />In a brown gloom the moats gleam; <br />Slender the sweet wife stands; <br />Her lips are red; her eyes dream; <br />Kisses are warm on her hands. <br /> <br />The child moans; the hours slip <br />Bitterly over her head: <br />In a gray dusk, the tears drip; <br />Mother is up there-dead. <br /> <br />The hermit hears the strange bright <br />Murmur of life at play; <br />In the waste day and waste night <br />Times to rebel and to pray. <br /> <br />The laborer toils in gray wise, <br />Godlike and patient and calm; <br />The beggar moans; his bleared eyes <br />Measure the dust in his palm. <br /> <br />The wise man, marks the flow and ebb <br />Hidden and held aloof: <br />In his deep mind is laid the web, <br />Shuttles are driving the woof.<br /><br />Archibald Lampman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/one-day-149/
