COMRADES
You need not say one word to me, as up the hill we go(Night-time, white-time, all in the whispering snow);You need not say one word to me, although the whispering treesSeem strange and old as pagan priests in swaying mysteries.You need not think one thought of me, as up the trail we go(Hill-trail, still-trail, all in the hiding snow);You need not think one thought of me, although a hare runs by,And off behind the tumbled cairn we hear a red fox cry.Oh, good and rare it is to feel, as through the night we go(Wild-wise, child-wise, all in the secret snow),That we are free of heart and foot as hare and fox are free,And yet that I am glad of you, and you are glad of me!Fannie Stearns Davis
You need not say one word to me, as up the hill we go(Night-time, white-time, all in the whispering snow);You need not say one word to me, although the whispering treesSeem strange and old as pagan priests in swaying mysteries.You need not think one thought of me, as up the trail we go(Hill-trail, still-trail, all in the hiding snow);You need not think one thought of me, although a hare runs by,And off behind the tumbled cairn we hear a red fox cry.Oh, good and rare it is to feel, as through the night we go(Wild-wise, child-wise, all in the secret snow),That we are free of heart and foot as hare and fox are free,And yet that I am glad of you, and you are glad of me!Fannie Stearns Davis
You need not say one word to me, as up the hill we go(Night-time, white-time, all in the whispering snow);You need not say one word to me, although the whispering treesSeem strange and old as pagan priests in swaying mysteries.
You need not say one word to me, as up the hill we go
(Night-time, white-time, all in the whispering snow);
You need not say one word to me, although the whispering trees
Seem strange and old as pagan priests in swaying mysteries.
You need not think one thought of me, as up the trail we go(Hill-trail, still-trail, all in the hiding snow);You need not think one thought of me, although a hare runs by,And off behind the tumbled cairn we hear a red fox cry.
You need not think one thought of me, as up the trail we go
(Hill-trail, still-trail, all in the hiding snow);
You need not think one thought of me, although a hare runs by,
And off behind the tumbled cairn we hear a red fox cry.
Oh, good and rare it is to feel, as through the night we go(Wild-wise, child-wise, all in the secret snow),That we are free of heart and foot as hare and fox are free,And yet that I am glad of you, and you are glad of me!
Oh, good and rare it is to feel, as through the night we go
(Wild-wise, child-wise, all in the secret snow),
That we are free of heart and foot as hare and fox are free,
And yet that I am glad of you, and you are glad of me!
Fannie Stearns Davis