All winter through I bow my head Beneath the driving rain; The North Wind powders me with snow And blows me black again; At midnight in a maze of stars I flame with glittering rime, And stand, above the stubble, stiff As mail at morning-prime. But when that child, called Spring, and all His host of children, come, Scattering their buds and dew upon These acres of my home, Some rapture in my rags awakes; I lift void eyes and scan The skies for crows, those ravening foes, Of my strange master, Man. I watch him striding lank behind His clashing team, and know Soon will the wheat swish body high Where once lay sterile snow; Soon shall I gaze across a sea Of sun-begotten grain, Which my unflinching watch hath sealed For harvest once again. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...STABAT MATER DOLOROSA by JACOPONE DA TODI WHITE SNOW by GUILLAUME APOLLINAIRE BIRTHDAY LINES TO AGNES BAILLIE by JOANNA BAILLIE THE CHILD AN' THE MOWERS by WILLIAM BARNES ON THE MASSACRE by CHAIM NACHMAN BIALIK TOY DAY by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE SONGS OF MIRZA SCHAFFY, SELECTION by FRIEDRICH MARTIN VON BODENSTEDT |