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Rh But the oxen looked up as I spoke, For a moment in mild surprise, Then bent again to the yoke, With peace in their dreaming eyes.

And a small brown bird on her nest Hid her speckled eggs with care, Lest one should chill while her mate Sang high in the golden air.

Still the flower and tree ’neath the sun Unfolded their buds to bloom; And the fly, clad in sombre gray, Danced over the faint perfume.

And the sun coming forth from a cloud Shone fair on a smiling land. I said: Hush, questioning heart; ’Tis you cannot understand.