God will not let my field lie fallow. The ploughshare is sharp, the feet of his oxen are heavy; They hurt. But I cannot stay God from His ploughing, I, the lord of the field. While I stand waiting, His shoulders loom upon me from the mist, He has gone past me down the furrow, shouting a song. (I had said, it shall rest for a season. The larks had built in the grass ...) He will not let my field lie fallow. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WINTER SONG by LUDWIG HENRICH CHRISTOPH HOLTY SERENADE by JEAN FRANCOIS VICTOR AICARD FRAGMENT OF AN 'ANTIGONE' by MATTHEW ARNOLD A CITY PIPER by MORRIS ABEL BEER STILL LIFE by ANNE MILLAY BREMER THE WAKE OF TIM O'HARA (SEVEN DIALS) by ROBERT WILLIAMS BUCHANAN ON THE DEATH OF SIR JAMES HUNTER BLAIR by ROBERT BURNS A SOLILOQUY ON THE COURSE AND CONSQUENCE OF A DOUBTING MIND by JOHN BYROM TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 3. INSCRIBED ON A MUMMY CASE, BRITISH MUSEUM by EDWARD CARPENTER |