| I went to turn the grass once after one
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| Who mowed it in the dew before the sun.
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| The dew was gone that made his blade so keen
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| Before I came to view the levelled scene.
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| I looked for him behind an isle of trees;
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| I listened for his whetstone on the breeze.
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| But he had gone his way, the grass all mown,
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| And I must be, as he had been,—alone,
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| As all must be,' I said within my heart,
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| Whether they work together or apart.'
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| But as I said it, swift there passed me by
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| On noiseless wing a 'wildered butterfly,
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| Seeking with memories grown dim o’er night
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| Some resting flower of yesterday’s delight.
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| And once I marked his flight go round and round,
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| As where some flower lay withering on the ground.
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| And then he flew as far as eye could see,
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| And then on tremulous wing came back to me.
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| I thought of questions that have no reply,
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| And would have turned to toss the grass to dry;
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| But he turned first, and led my eye to look
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| At a tall tuft of flowers beside a brook,
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| A leaping tongue of bloom the scythe had spared
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| Beside a reedy brook the scythe had bared.
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| I left my place to know them by their name,
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| Finding them butterfly weed when I came.
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| The mower in the dew had loved them thus,
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| By leaving them to flourish, not for us,
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| Nor yet to draw one thought of ours to him.
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| But from sheer morning gladness at the brim.
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| The butterfly and I had lit upon,
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| Nevertheless, a message from the dawn,
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| That made me hear the wakening birds around,
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| And hear his long scythe whispering to the ground,
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| And feel a spirit kindred to my own;
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| So that henceforth I worked no more alone;
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| But glad with him, I worked as with his aid,
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| And weary, sought at noon with him the shade;
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| And dreaming, as it were, held brotherly speech
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| With one whose thought I had not hoped to reach.
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| Men work together,' I told him from the heart,
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| Whether they work together or apart.' |