I A swish of scythes goes running through the field, A shrill of voices where the reapers pass, The wind moves the green flavor of the grass, The clover goes to dust, the young stalks yield. Up goes a flight of birds in a long file, Dry dandelion seed by the brook's edge, A ripple of wind sifts through the sultry hedge, The swishing scythes are silent for a while. Beyond the fences sour apples fall, And torpid thistles wilt on the hill's brow, Red surrants wither by the pasture wall, And bees are lean with sudden hunger now. Low geese go over crying for a lake Of water and the very meadows ache. II At this time shall new trees forget to sprout Upon a hill and sap forget to stir, Smooth bees grow weary of and endless whir Over the orchards and a slim lad's shout End by the frothy pool, dull butterflies Sink to the mown hay and spiders in the trees Leave their webs dangling shabbily in the breeze, And weeds brittle along the pasturesides. Young girls cease singing and the inky crows Go down the pastures and the bull frogs stifle Their croaking by the banks and the winds rifle The hush in the solid woods when a day goes. Sweethearts move to the meadow end and sit By the water there nor care to look at it. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE RHINOCEROS by HILAIRE BELLOC THE WAY OF THE CONVENTICLE OF THE TREES by HAYDEN CARRUTH YOU KNOW WHAT PEOPLE SAY by JAMES GALVIN A MID-DAY DREAMER by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON STREET-CRIES: 7. A SONG OF LOVE by SIDNEY LANIER A GUY I KNOW ON 47TH AND COTTAGE by CLARENCE MAJOR VICTORY IN DEFEAT by EDWIN MARKHAM |