One Day

The trees rustle; the wind blows Merrily out of the town; The shadows creep, the sun goes Steadily over and down. In a brown gloom the moats gleam; Slender the sweet wife stands; Her lips are red; her eyes dream; Kisses are warm on her hands. The child moans; the hours slip Bitterly over her head: In a gray dusk, the tears drip; Mother is up there-dead. The hermit hears the strange bright Murmur of life at play; In the waste day and waste night Times to rebel and to pray. The laborer toils in gray wise, Godlike and patient and calm; The beggar moans; his bleared eyes Measure the dust in his palm. The wise man, marks the flow and ebb Hidden and held aloof: In his deep mind is laid the web, Shuttles are driving the woof.