 | The Last Crusade and Other Poems |  |
145
[At last the overtired year]
At last the overtired year
Wearily lays her hectic cheek
To slumber; now the midnight tear
Swells from the flower, and orchards reek,
At noontide; now a drowsier morn
Breathes thick along the pearly leas,
And tatters of the garnered corn
Droop from the drooping trees.
Wearily lays her hectic cheek
To slumber; now the midnight tear
Swells from the flower, and orchards reek,
At noontide; now a drowsier morn
Breathes thick along the pearly leas,
And tatters of the garnered corn
Droop from the drooping trees.
Now in the narrow lane, that twines
Chill through the sandstone, the late sun
Scarce flickers; but his blessing shines
On all that patient work hath won
From the low, faithful fields, on all
That laboured while the labourer slept,
Till it grew golden, full and tall,
And Spring's rich promise richly kept.
Chill through the sandstone, the late sun
Scarce flickers; but his blessing shines
On all that patient work hath won
From the low, faithful fields, on all
That laboured while the labourer slept,
Till it grew golden, full and tall,
And Spring's rich promise richly kept.
Mother of all things, who hast nurst
The poor child, Man, on thy dear breast
For ages, and when pain is worst
Dost take him gently home to rest,
O blessed Mother, there have been
Far loftier singers o'er and o'er,
Who more have lisped and learnt and seen,
But never one that loved thee more.
The poor child, Man, on thy dear breast
For ages, and when pain is worst
Dost take him gently home to rest,
O blessed Mother, there have been
Far loftier singers o'er and o'er,
Who more have lisped and learnt and seen,
But never one that loved thee more.
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