Miner at night Minding the sluice-gate Looks up: Lord, there's a mother-lode, If I had a pan big enough To sift the sky for stars. Farmer, past dusk, Unloading bales, Dreams: Lord, there's a field If ever I saw a field, If ever I had a way to mow it. Dory-man, riding The black wave home at dark, Considers: Lord, it's a shoal from here Clear to heaven, and no man Has a net to bring it home.