And wishing golden dust to fancied value?
Ah, catch the milch-dewed air, breathe deep
The clover-scented breath across the field,
And feed upon sweet-rooted grasses
Thou hast idly plucked.
Come, Brother, then let’s on together.
Hi-ho, alack-a-day, whither going?
Is here thy path adown the hard-flagged pave,
Where, bowed, the workers blindly shuffle on;
And dumbly stand in gullies bound,