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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
SYMPHONY OF THE SOIL, by EVA K. ANGLESBURG
First Line: The red sun sinks in veils of amethyst
Last Line: The motif of this music of the plains.
Subject(s): Labor & Laborers; Prairies; Soil; Work; Workers; Plains
First Line: The red sun sinks in veils of amethyst
Last Line: The motif of this music of the plains.
Subject(s): Labor & Laborers; Prairies; Soil; Work; Workers; Plains
The red sun sinks in veils of amethyst
And through the drowsy stillness comes the drone
Of distant blowers. Eerily they moan,
Now near, now far, so faint that they exist
As merest threads of sound; yet these persist
And mingle with the engine's labored groan,
The rustling of the sieves, that undertone
Of rending sounds, as ruthless concaves twist
And tear the sheaves; the giant drive belt's hiss—
These varied rhythms are blended into this
Symphony of the soil. The autumn heat
Is vibrant with its half barbaric beat.
And yet the blower's eerie moan remains
The motif of this music of the plains.
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