VII.
Reading edition
Owed to the Moving Man.
WRITTEN TO GET EVEN.
He pledged his solemn word for ten, And lo, he cometh not till noon— So ready his excuses then, We wonder why he came so soon. He whistles while our goods and gods He storeth in his mighty van— No lurking sting of conscience prods The happy-hearted moving man. Upon the pavement in a row, Beneath the cruel noonday glare, The things we do not wish to show He places, and he leaves them there. There hour by hour will they remain For all the gaping world to scan, The while we coax and chide in vain The careless-hearted moving man. When darkness finds our poor array Like drift upon a barren shore, Perchance we gaze on it and say With vigor, "We will roam no more." But when the year its course hath run, And May completes the rhythmic span, Again, I wot, we'll call upon The happy-hearted moving man.