Mindful were the ploughmen of who the steer had yoked,

Who: and what a track showed the upturned sod!

Mindful were the shepherds, as now the noon severe

Bent a burning eyebrow to brown evetide,

How the rustic flute drew the silver to the sphere,

Sister of his own, till her rays fell wide.

Chirping none, the scarlet cicadas crouched in ranks:

Slack the thistle-head piled its down-silk grey:

(Editor：data)