The soil now gets a rumpling soft and damp, And no regard to the future of any weed. The final flat of the hoe's approval stamp Is reserved for the bed of a few selected seed. There is seldom more than a man to a harrowed piece. Men work alone, their lots plowed far apart, One stringing a chain of seed in an open crease, And one still stumbling after a halting cart. To the fresh and black of the squares of early mold The leafless bloom of a plum is fresh and white; Though there's more than a doubt if the weather is not too cold For the bees to come and serve its beauty aright. Wind goes from man to man in wave on wave, But carries no message of what is hoped to be. There may be little or much beyond the grave, But the strong are saying nothing until they see. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ADONAIS; AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF JOHN KEATS by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY LOOKING FORWARD by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON THE DAY OF JUDGEMENT; AN ODE ATTEMPTED IN ENGLISH SAPPHIC by ISAAC WATTS SONNET: HER WORST AND BEST by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON OBSERVATIONS IN THE ART OF ENGLISH POESY: 8. TROCHAIC VERSE: THE FOURTH EPIGRAM by THOMAS CAMPION |