The year had rushed along through May and June, And my own natal month, her goal to win; And now the fruitful sheaves were coming in; The glow of August made the barren moon As mellow as the corn-lands. One bright field, Which to the southward sloped, enhancing all The beauty of the view, was last to fall Before the sweeping scythe. Its doom was sealed; I grieved to think how fleet and fugitive Are all our joys, how near to change or harm: And how that azure distance would outlive Its golden foreground, losing half its charm! But I remembered, ere I looked again, That fallen corn is bread, and many a loss true gain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CLOISTER by ISAAC ROSENBERG AFTER A LECTURE ON KEATS by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES CHAMBER MUSIC: 1 by JAMES JOYCE WHAT OF THE DARKNESS?; TO THE HAPPY DEAD PEOPLE by RICHARD THOMAS LE GALLIENNE OPPORTUNITY by NICCOLO MACHIAVELLI ANIMAL TRANQUILITY AND DECAY; A SKETCH by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH |