The dames and maidens call to me, as hand in hand they go,
“What steep do you, miss, climb to-day—what steep of high Sunglo?”
III.
Dark is the sky, the twilight dim still on the hills is set;
The dewy leaves and cloudy buds may not be gathered yet:
Oh, who are they, the thirsty ones, for whom this work we do,
For whom we spend our daily toil in bands of two and two?
IV.
Like fellows we each other aid, and to each other say,
As down we pull the yielding twigs, “Sweet sister, don’t delay;