Man of the soil, an ageless man, Taut to the acre's yield, He sits his horse in a lordly way And fashions a new-plowed field. He wheels the bay mare up the hill, Over the hill and down Along the slope, and through the gate, Though fields be green or brown... So warmly shines the winter sun Upon the icy glades As though it were the cropping time For spring's new growing blades, And so wistful am I to see his face, I buy new seed again; My backyard garden then becomes A farmer's field of grain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WILD DUCK'S NEST by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH SHIPS AT SUNSET by STANLEY E. BABB THE PRINCESS by BJORNSTJERNE MARTINIUS BJORNSON HEART'S EASE by MATHILDE BLIND A TRIBUTE TO DANTE by GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO ON JAMES GRACIE, DEAN OF GUILD by ROBERT BURNS THE CARNIVAL OF 1848 by WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE: TO IANTHE, AND CANTO 1 by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |