If we decide to till our farms,
They don't care to help us with their arms
We are hungry while they are in satisfactory
Is only food we always battle for ...
I dream'd there would be Spring no more,
That Nature's ancient power was lost:
The streets were black with smoke and frost,
They chatter'd trifles at the door:
I wander'd from the noisy town,
I found a wood with thorny boughs:
I took the thorns to bind my brows,
... Read complete poem
