We know not for whom their thirst to quench
We’re caused to labor and daily two by two to go.
In social couples each to aid her fellows, we seize the tea twigs,
And in low words urge one another, “Don’t delay,”
Lest on the topmost bough, the bud has even now grown old,
And lest with the morrow comes the drizzling, silky rain.
We’ve picked enough, the topmost boughs are sparse of leaves;
We lift our baskets filled brimful and talk of going home;
Laughing we pass along, when just against the pool
A pair of scared mallards rise and fly diverse away.