Posted by: W. E. Poplaski | November 10, 2009

POEM OF THE DAY: In Harvest

by Sophie Jewett (1861 – 1909).

In Harvest

Mown meadows skirt the standing wheat;
I linger, for the hay is sweet,
New-cut and curing in the sun.
Like furrows, straight, the windrows run,
Fallen, gallant ranks that tossed and bent
When, yesterday, the west wind went
A-rioting through grass and grain.
To-day no least breath stirs the plain;
Only the hot air, quivering, yields
Illusive motion to the fields
Where not the slenderest tassel swings.
Across the wheat flash sky-blue wings;
A goldfinch dangles from a tall,
Full-flowered yellow mullein; all
The world seems turning blue and gold.
Unstartled, since, even from of old,
Beauty has brought keen sense of her,
I feel the withering grasses stir;
Along the edges of the wheat,
I hear the rustle of her feet:
And yet I know the whole sea lies,
And half the earth, between our eyes.

Notes:
http://www.lehigh.edu/~dek7/SSAWW/writ19CenJewe.htm
http://books.google.com/books?id=fak-AAAAIAAJ&pg=PR5&lpg=PR5&dq=Sophie+Jewett+biography&source=bl&ots=T0nGEJKXSC&sig=4JPogyUPRIrAlADeq2oNUomV8zA&hl=en&ei=dX_wSvT8OZOyNrPogZkH&sa=X&oi=book_result&ct=result&resnum=3&ved=0CA8Q6AEwAg#v=onepage&q=Sophie%20Jewett%20biography&f=false

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