The Pine Planters (Marty South's Reverie)

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.