Who marches at rise of sun?
Lo! Look at the woman! The heat of her labor is whiter;
Ere the work of the world has begun
She is up, and her banners are flying from yard and from alley,
The roofs are a-flutter with eloquent streamers of snow.
Oh, not for a moment her passionate fingers may dally,
Till the soldier is shod and is fed and made ready to go.
Oh, weary the heart of the host when the battle is done,
But the woman is laboring still with the set of the sun!
Does the worker return? She is able and eager with bread.