Red was the blossom.
YOU AND I
Out of my way now:
Black are my hands and damp is my clothing.
Only a miner am I, to-day noble thou;
Thou’rt from a palace, a hut is my dwelling.
Frigid’s the cap I wear, with a visor on,
Orphans’ lamenting prayers do not follow me;
Eaten up fields for them have hares of thine.
Heartless and soulless thou’rt, lightning smite thee!