Brother of toil! what nobler theme Could Homer, Dante, Milton dream Than just this homely commonplace That weaves the substance of our days? Aloft the stately headed pines May lift their proud serrated lines Far to the face of heaven, and mock The lightning's flash, the tempest's shock. Unless, deep grubbing in the ground, The toughly crawling roots were found; Unless those miners in the dark Dug food for fibre, leaf, and bark; Unless those tendrils all unknown Kept a good grip on soil and stone -- Where would the pompous branches be That silly poets solely see? Ours be the grubbing in the dirt, The strain that wears, the tasks that hurt. Ours be the part of pallid roots, While others pose as purple fruits. Last shall be first, in God's great plan, O humble working artisan! In heaven the happy roots behold Treasured in soil of shining gold; After the stress and the strain of their strife, Set in the bank of the River of Life! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONG OF THE WAVE by ROBERT FROST LOVELIGHT by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON DAT GAL O' MINE by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON WHEN I WAS A BIRD by KATHERINE MANSFIELD DOMESDAY BOOK: BARRETT BAYS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS HER EYES by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON PRELUDE; FOR GEOFFREY GORER by EDITH SITWELL |