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Man Carrying Bale

The tough hand closes gently on the load;

Out of the mind, a voice

Calls 'Lift!' and the arms, remembering well their work,

Lengthen and pause for help.

Then a slow ripple flows from head to foot

While all the muscles call to one another:

'Lift! 'and the bulging bale

Floats like a butterfly in June.

So moved the earliest carrier of bales,

And the same watchful sun

Glowed through his body feeding it with light.

So will the last one move,

And halt, and dip his head, and lay his load

Down, and the muscles will relax and tremble.

Earth, you designed your man

Beautiful both in labour and repose.