On fields o'er which the reaper's hand has pass'd Lit by the harvest moon and autumn sun, My thoughts like stubble floating in the wind And of such fineness as October airs, There after harvest could I glean my life A richer harvest reaping without toil, And weaving gorgeous fancies at my will In subtler webs than finest summer haze. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CHILD IN THE GARDEN by HENRY VAN DYKE VERSES FOR CHILDREN: CHRISTMAS TREE by ZEDA K. AILES RACHEL by WILLIAM H. ARMSTRONG III THE WANDERER: 1. IN ITALY: COUNT RINALDO RINALDI by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON CHILDWIST by GEORGE HERBERT CLARKE |