Facing the Far Firs

Sitting under the spring’s clear free sky With afternoon’s fatigued sun, kind blows of breeze; Busy whilst idle Lively while wearied In joy whilst sorrow In comfort while in ache; Facing the far firs, Snow peaks of high heavy woods, Low-lying cottages of angelic nomads; Smiling at: The children--playing by the leaping rushing rill, Maidens fetching water, Lads lay ‘neath the soaring cedars By the brook’s noisy bank, Women shouting over the fleeing funny sheep, Men herding the black buffaloes, Rubbing the backs of brown mares; And You! Teaching, there, the poor pupils— By the shady walnut.