I brought to aid me all the hope
    And energy of youth;
And in my heart I felt the strength
    Of plain bucolic truth:
The independence nourished
    Amid the hills and trees—
But, ah! the city hath a cure
    For qualities like these.

I wonder oft how e’er I made
    The efforts that I made,
For after three long weary years
    I taught myself a trade.
And two more years and I was free
    With strength and hope elate,
For “he that hath a trade,” they say,
    “Hath also an estate.”

I tramped the streets and looked for work
    And begged for work in vain,
Until I recked not, though I ne’er
    Might touch my tools again.
I tramped the streets despairing;
    My cheeks grew white and thin;
I felt the pavement wearing through
    The leather, sock, and skin.

The bitter war goes on between
    The idlers and the drones,
Until the hearts of men grow cold
    And hard as pavement stones;
But I am one amid the crowd,
    Then why should I repine?
The pavement stones have broken springs
    In stronger feet than mine.