 | Poems by Frederick Goddard Tuckerman |  |
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[II. Nor idle all, though naught he sees in thine]
Nor idle all, though naught he sees in thine—But dallying with the day to make it brief;
And thinks it braver far to tramp the leaf
With dog and gun, thro' tamerac, birch, and pine;
Or lounge the day beneath a tavern-sign:
Yet in his labour can I well discern
Great workings moving, both in his, and mine.
What though indeed a joyless verse I turn?
The flowers are fair, and give their glimmering heaps
To grace her rest. And so to-night I pass
To that low mound, gone over now with grass,
And find her stirless still; whilst overhead
Creation moveth, and the farm-boy sleeps
A still strong sleep, till but the east is red.
| Poems by Frederick Goddard Tuckerman | |