From the spirit to depart—
Tho' 'tis winter in the sky,
Yet 'tis summer in the heart!
———
THE ELEVENTH-HOUR LABORER
Idlers all day about the market-place
They name us, and our dumb lips answer not,
Bearing the bitter while our sloth's disgrace,
And our dark tasking whereof none may wot.
Oh, the fair slopes where the grape-gatherers go!—