Again the poor peasants 120
Are sunk in the depths
Of the bottomless gulf!
Dejected and silent,
They lie on their stomachs
Absorbed in reflection.
But then they start singing;
And slowly the song,
Like a ponderous cloud-bank,
Rolls mournfully onwards.
They sing it so clearly 130
That quickly our seven
Have learnt it as well.


_The Hungry One_

The peasant stands
With haggard gaze,
He pants for breath,
He reels and sways;

From famine food,
From bread of bark,
His form has swelled,
His face is dark. 140

Through endless grief
Suppressed and dumb