Spring in her beauty thrills and thrives,
Here men hardly have heard her name.
Work is the end and aim of their lives—
Work, work, work! for their children and wives;
Work for a life which, when it is won,
Is the saddest thing 'neath the sun!
Work—one dark and incessant round
In black dull workshops, out of the light;
Work that others' ease may abound,
Work that delight for them may be found,