The answering voice

by Unknown

warn me now!

Adelaide Anne Procter

COMRADES

You need not say one word to me, as up the hill we go

(Night-time, white-time, all in the whispering snow);

You need not say one word to me, although the whispering trees

Seem strange and old as pagan priests in swaying mysteries.

You need not think one thought of me, as up the trail we go

(Hill-trail, still-trail, all in the hiding snow);

You need not think one thought of me, although a hare runs by,