CHANT the harvest song of the brawny reapers, Bare arms bronzed, with muscles astrain and gnarled, Like the oak boughs tossed by the winds of winter Hoarse in their triumph! Chant the scythe, its gleam in the golden windrows Where the corn-flower shines with its morning sapphire When the wheat is ripe for the wain in waiting, -- Ripe for the gleaners! Sing surcease from toil in the long sweet shadows, Doves that coo and murmur of loving voices, All the large content in the dreams that gather After the harvest! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HONEY DRIPPER by CLARENCE MAJOR LOVE IN AUTUMN by SARA TEASDALE TO A FRIEND by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD THE LITTLE TURTLE by NICHOLAS VACHEL LINDSAY FOR A MARRIAGE OF SAINT KATHERINE [OR, CATHERINE] by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI GATHERING SONG OF DONALD [OR, DONUI DHU] THE BLACK by WALTER SCOTT |