All toil-worn and weather-browned;
They gathered the roots they had planted in spring,
And piled them up on the ground.
We heard the laughter of children,
And merrily down the road
Ran little Max with a rattling cart,
Heaped with a heavy load.
Upon orange carrots, and beets so red,
And turnips smooth and white,
With leaves of green all packed between,