The pair first lived ere they knew the fall;
And, loving all things, we believed in all.
Ah! girding yourself and throwing your strength
On the front of the forest that stands in mail,
Sounds gallant, indeed, in a pioneer’s tale,
But, God in heaven! the weariness
Of a sweet soul banished to a life like this!
This reaching of weary-worn arms full length;
This stooping all day to the cold stubborn soil—
This holding the heart! it is more than toil!