The Comrades Poems Old & New: By William Canton |
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The Scarecrow |
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 | The Comrades |  |
150
The Scarecrow
Hail Goodman-gossip of the corn!
When boughs are green and furrows sprout
And blossom muffles every thorn,
Poor soul! the farmer boards him out.
When boughs are green and furrows sprout
And blossom muffles every thorn,
Poor soul! the farmer boards him out.
Men think, grim wight, his rags affright
The wingèd thieves from root and ear;
But on his hat pert sparrows light—
Crows have been friends too long to fear!
The wingèd thieves from root and ear;
But on his hat pert sparrows light—
Crows have been friends too long to fear!
The schoolboy's sling he heedeth not;
No rancour nerves those palsied hands;
In shocking hat and ancient coat,
A crazed and patient wretch he stands.
No rancour nerves those palsied hands;
In shocking hat and ancient coat,
A crazed and patient wretch he stands.
151
Without a murmur in the wheat,
Till fields are shorn and harvest's won,
He suffers cold, he suffers heat,
From chilly stars and scorching sun.
Till fields are shorn and harvest's won,
He suffers cold, he suffers heat,
From chilly stars and scorching sun.
Though men forget, he dreameth yet
How in the golden past he stood,
'Mid flowers and wine, a shape divine
Of marble or of carven wood;
How in the golden past he stood,
'Mid flowers and wine, a shape divine
Of marble or of carven wood;
How, in the loveliness and peace
Of that blithe age and radiant clime,
He was a garden-god of Greece.
Oh, vanished world! Oh, fleeting time!
Of that blithe age and radiant clime,
He was a garden-god of Greece.
Oh, vanished world! Oh, fleeting time!
Gaunt simulacrum—ghost forlorn—
Grey exile from a splendid past—
Last god (in rags) of a creed outworn—
If pity'll help thee, mine thou hast!
Grey exile from a splendid past—
Last god (in rags) of a creed outworn—
If pity'll help thee, mine thou hast!
| The Comrades | |