I

We work here together

   In blast and breeze;

He fills the earth in,

   I hold the trees.

He does not notice

   That what I do

Keeps me from moving

   And chills me through.

He has seen one fairer

   I feel by his eye,

Which skims me as though

   I were not by.

And since she passed here

   He scarce has known

But that the woodland

   Holds him alone.

I have worked here with him

   Since morning shine,

He busy with his thoughts

   And I with mine.

I have helped him so many,

   So many days,

But never win any

   Small word of praise!

Shall I not sigh to him

   That I work on

Glad to be nigh to him

   Though hope is gone?

Nay, though he never

   Knew love like mine,

I’ll bear it ever

   And make no sign!

II

From the bundle at hand here

   I take each tree,

And set it to stand, here

   Always to be;

When, in a second,

   As if from fear

Of Life unreckoned

   Beginning here,

It starts a sighing

   Through day and night,

Though while there lying

   ’Twas voiceless quite.

It will sigh in the morning,

   Will sigh at noon,

At the winter’s warning,

   In wafts of June;

Grieving that never

   Kind Fate decreed

It should for ever

   Remain a seed,

And shun the welter

   Of things without,

Unneeding shelter

   From storm and drought.

Thus, all unknowing

   For whom or what

We set it growing

   In this bleak spot,

It still will grieve here

   Throughout its time,

Unable to leave here,

   Or change its clime;

Or tell the story

   Of us to-day

When, halt and hoary,

   We pass away.