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90 There, I said, the lazy cattle in the sunshine will be resting, Dreaming in the pasture lands where summer airs blow sweet, Or standing in the river to feel each slow wave cresting In snowy pearl bracelets around their cloven feet.

But here they gasp and stumble, foot-sore and full of sorrow; No question ‘Why these sufferings?’ to the careless passer-by In thtir patient weary eyes that shall see no fair tomorrow, And find no balm of tears as they stagger on to die.

I said: A feathered choir in the leafy heights are singing A farewell to the West where the evening sun dreams low, And the passion of their song sets their budding perch slow swinging, Till the moon with silver sail glides through the afterglow.

Here, crimeless prisoners caged, they sigh and dream for ever Of a lonely mate in some cool grove that droops beside her brood; They beat the cruel bars in a passionate endeavour To hush the little voices that call in vain for food.