v

The bee pills nothing for himself, Loading with gold his thigh, The martin twittering, at his shelf, Glancing from the sky Not greedy ease make slaves of these; Nor yet endures the cow, Her failing knees and agonies For price of joy I vow.

A call above the spell of love, A crying and a need To make two one, the fruit whereof To nurture and to feed; To brood, to hoard, to spend as rain Virtue and tears and blood; To get that you may give amain— Of such is parenthood.