 | Orta-undis, and other poems |  |
1
THE REAPER.
How still Earth lies!—behind the pines
The summer clouds sink slowly down.
The sunset gilds the higher hills
And distant steeples of the town.
The summer clouds sink slowly down.
The sunset gilds the higher hills
And distant steeples of the town.
Refreshed and moist the meadow spreads,
Birds sing from out the dripping leaves,
And standing in the breast-high corn
I see the farmer bind his sheaves.
Birds sing from out the dripping leaves,
And standing in the breast-high corn
I see the farmer bind his sheaves.
2
It was when on the fallow fields
The heavy frosts of winter lay,
A rustic with unsparing hand
Strewed seed along the furrowed way.
The heavy frosts of winter lay,
A rustic with unsparing hand
Strewed seed along the furrowed way.
And I too, walking through the waste
And wintry hours of the past,
Have in the furrows made by griefs
The seeds of future harvests cast.
And wintry hours of the past,
Have in the furrows made by griefs
The seeds of future harvests cast.
Rewarded well, if when the world
Grows dimmer in the ebbing light,
And all the valley lies in shade,
But sunset glimmers on the height.
Grows dimmer in the ebbing light,
And all the valley lies in shade,
But sunset glimmers on the height.
Down in the meadows of the heart
The birds sing out a last refrain,
And ready garnered for the mart
I see the ripe and golden grain.
The birds sing out a last refrain,
And ready garnered for the mart
I see the ripe and golden grain.
1847.
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