The Pisky Gleaner.
From candle-douting to candle-teening1
I labour at the weary gleaning,2
The scattered ears I gather up,3
Eat of your bread, drink of your cup—4
And yet no ray of light can guide you5
To guess a Pisky sits beside you,6
You of your wisdom overweening.7
I only of my wayward clan8
Accept the food and wage of man,9
I labour in your fields all day10
Whence my own folk have fled away ;11
No voices call me to the moor12
When at the noon the heat grows sore—13
I bear my burden as I can.14
My fairy birthright I have lost,15
And yet I never grudge the cost,16
Because of one who gleans beside me,17
Whose dark brown cloud of hair shall hide me18
From sorrow, who goes seeking ever19
For hearts to break and hands to sever,20
The running brooks for her I crossed.21
Thresholds of human homes I passed,22
My lot among you mortals cast,23
Because a gleaner’s voice was kind,24
A gleaner’s laugh rang down the wind25
Like a bird’s music among leaves.26
I’ll bind a whole green shire of sheaves27
If she will love me at the last.28