A leaping tongue of bloom the scythe had spared 

 Beside a reedy brook the scythe had bared. 



I left my place to know them by their name, 

 Finding them butterfly weed when I came. 



The mower in the dew had loved them thus, 

 By leaving them to flourish, not for us, 



Nor yet to draw one thought of ours to him. 

 But from sheer morning gladness at the brim. 



The butterfly and I had lit upon. 

 Nevertheless, a message from the dawn. 



That made me hear the wakening birds around, 

 And hear his long scythe whispering to the ground, 



And feel a spirit kindred to my own ; 



So that henceforth I worked no more alone ; 



But glad with him, I worked as with his aid. 

 And weary, sought at noon with him the shade ; 



And dreaming, as it were, held brotherly speech 

 With one whose thought I had not hoped to reach. 



' Men work together,' I told him from my heart, 

 * Whether they work together or apart.' 



ROBERT FROST. 



43 



