All winter through I bow my head Beneath the driving rain; The North Wind powders me with snow And blows me black again; At midnight in a maze of stars I flame with glittering rime, And stand, above the stubble, stiff As mail at morning-prime. But when that child, called Spring, and all His host of children, come, Scattering their buds and dew upon These acres of my home, Some rapture in my rags awakes; I lift void eyes and scan The skies for crows, those ravening foes, Of my strange master, Man. I watch him striding lank behind His clashing team, and know Soon will the wheat swish body high Where once lay sterile snow; Soon shall I gaze across a sea Of sun-begotten grain, Which my unflinching watch hath sealed For harvest once again. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LADY'S 'YES' by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING SONNET: 106 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE AN OLD BATTLE-FIELD by FRANK LEBBY STANTON FIRST VOYAGE OF COLUMBUS by JOANNA BAILLIE SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 8. THEE by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) TO S-----D (1) by WILLIAM BLAKE A YEOMAN by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN EPITAPH ON MR. TURNER OF ST. MARY-HALL by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) |