WHO, mid the grasses of the field That spring beneath our careless feet First found the shining stems that yield The grains of life-sustaining wheat: Who first, upon the furrowed land, Strewed the bright grains to sprout, and grow, And ripen for the reaper's hand-- We know not, and we cannot know. But well we know the hand that brought And scattered, far as sight can reach, The seeds of free and living thought On the broad field of modern speech. Mid the white hills that round us lie, We cherish that Great Sower's fame, And, as we pile the sheaves on high, With awe we utter Dante's name. Six centuries, since the poet's birth, Have come and flitted o'er our sphere: The richest harvest reaped on earth Crowns the last century's closing year. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON THE TOMBS IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY by FRANCIS BEAUMONT THE VISION OF JUDGEMENT by GEORGE GORDON BYRON DAY: MORNING by JOHN CUNNINGHAM TYRANNICK [TYRANNIC] LOVE: EPILOGUE by JOHN DRYDEN AT BETHLEHEM: 1. THE CHILD by JOHN BANISTER TABB FOUR THINGS [TO DO] by HENRY VAN DYKE |