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 The 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.