ALONG Ancona's hills the shimmering heat, A tropic tide of air, with ebb and flow Bathes all the fields of wheat until they glow Like flashing seas of green, which toss and beat Around the vines. The poppies lithe and fleet Seem running, fiery torchmen, to and fro To mark the shore. The farmer does not know That they are there. He walks with heavy feet, Counting the bread and wine by autumn's gain, But I, -- I smile to think that days remain Perhaps to me in which, though bread be sweet No more, and red wine warm my blood in vain, I shall be glad remembering how the fleet, Lithe poppies ran like torchmen with the wheat. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONG FOR A VIOLA D'AMORE by AMY LOWELL TO A SOLITARY DISCIPLE by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS A CRADLE SONG by WILLIAM BLAKE I SIT AND SEW by ALICE RUTH MOORE DUNBAR-NELSON THE CHURCH OF A DREAM; TO BERNHARD BERENSON by LIONEL PIGOT JOHNSON THE TABLES TURNED by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH DEATH AND THE LADY; THEIR BARGAIN TOLD AGAIN by LEONIE ADAMS |