While far away the sullen Hwang-ho rolls
His lazy waters to the Eastern Sea,
And sleepy mandarins sit on bamboo poles
Imbibing countless cups of China tea?
A year ago thou digged'st in feverish haste
Against the whelming onset of the Hun
A hundred miles of trench across the waste—
A year ago—and now the War is won;
But thou remainest still with pick and spade,
Celestial delver, patient son of toil!