| | XLI | | | |
| | | |
| In my own shire, if I was sad, | | | |
| Homely comforters I had: | | | Q |
| The earth, because my heart was sore, | | | Q |
| Sorrowed for the son she bore; | | | |
| And standing hills, long to remain, | 5 | | |
| Shared their short-lived comrade's pain. | | | |
| And bound for the same bourn as I, | | C | |
| On every road I wandered by, | | | |
| Trod beside me, close and dear, | | | |
| The beautiful and death-struck year: | 10 | | |
| Whether in the woodland brown | | | |
| I heard the beechnut rustle down, | | | |
| And saw the purple crocus pale | | | |
| Flower about the autumn dale; | | | |
| Or littering far the fields of May | 15 | | |
| Lady-smocks a-bleaching lay, | | | |
| And like a skylit water stood | | C | |
| The bluebells in the azured wood. | | | |
| | | | | |
| Yonder, lightening other loads, | | | |
| The seasons range the country roads, | 20 | | |
| But here in London streets I ken | | C | Q |
| V | No such helpmates, only men; | | | Q |
| And these are not in plight to bear, | | | |
| If they would, another's care. | | | |
| They have enough as 'tis: I see | 25 | | |
| In many an eye that measures me | | | Q |
| The mortal sickness of a mind | | | |
| Too unhappy to be kind. | | | |
| Undone with misery, all they can | | | |
| Is to hate their fellow man; | 30 | | |
| And till they drop they needs must still | | | Q |
| Look at you and wish you ill. | | | |