The Wool-Gatherer

Where hast thou been in the wind and rain? 'Gathering wool on a far plain. 'Four shepherds keep those flocks afar In pastures where no hedgerows are. 'They own no lord, they take no hire, They warm their hands at no man's fire. 'When one has driven the nodes all day, At no far fold they make their stay. 'For one comes hot-foot o'er the plain And drives them hurrying back again. 'Though the yield should fill the world's wains full, Never to market comes the wool. 'They cast it all, those wastrel herds, To naked stars and screaming birds. 'It makes no rug nor coat of frieze: It makes men shrouds in stormy seas.'