Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE HARVEST, by MARY MORGAN BUCKNER

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THE HARVEST, by            
First Line: The lonesome house drove me outside
Last Line: To one robbed by death and marriage.

The lonesome house drove me outside.
In the darkness the blossoms gleamed --
Pale ghosts of their bright daytime selves,
While the cold moon wallowed through clouds.

A drear wind whispered to the trees
Disturbing all the half-dead leaves,
Making the iris tremble and shrink.
From the nearby woods a mocking bird
Shrilled a mad ecstatic deluge,
As if to drown the babel sounds
Released by the awful night hours.
A whippoorwill's poignant calling,
The ululation of a dog,
The ghoulish barking of a fox,
An owl's lonely shuddering voice.
Riven by pangs of loneliness!
Alone! a dreadful word that clings
To one robbed by death and marriage.

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