It is the Harvest Moon! On gilded vanes And roofs of villages, on woodland crests And their aerial neighborhoods of nests Deserted, on the curtained window-panes Of rooms where children sleep, on country lanes And harvest-fields, its mystic splendor rests! Gone are the birds that were our summer guests, With the last sheaves return the laboring wains! All things are symbols: the external shows Of Nature have their image in the mind, As flowers and fruits and falling of the leaves; The song-birds leave us at the summer's close, Only the empty nests are left behind, And pipings of the quail among the sheaves. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE STIRRUP-CUP by JOHN MILTON HAY THREE KINGS OF ORIENT by JOHN HENRY HOPKINS JR. TO SOME LADIES [ON RECEIVING A CURIOUS SHELL] by JOHN KEATS AFTER THE WINTER by CLAUDE MCKAY THE SOLITARY WOODSMAN by CHARLES GEORGE DOUGLAS ROBERTS THE THREE BEST THING: 1. WORK by HENRY VAN DYKE |