UNDER the long fell's stony eaves The ploughman, going up and down, Ridge after ridge man's tide-mark leaves, And turns the hard grey soil to brown. Striding, he measures out the earth In lines of life, to rain and sun; And every year that comes to birth Sees him still striding on and on. The seasons change, and then return; Yet still, in blind unsparing ways, However I may shrink or yearn, The ploughman measures out my days. His acre brought forth roots last year; This year it bears the gleamy grain; Next Spring shall seedling grass appear: Then roots and corn and grass again. Five times the young corn's pallid green I have seen spread and change and thrill; Five times the reapers I have seen Go creeping up the far-off hill: And, as the unknowing ploughman climbs Slowly and inveterately, I wonder long how many times The corn will spring again for me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FROM THE WOOLWORTH TOWER by SARA TEASDALE THE THANKSGIVING IN BOSTON HARBOR [JUNE 12, 1630] by HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH A SONG [OF DIVINE LOVE] by RICHARD CRASHAW THE SEA by BRYAN WALLER PROCTER THE BROWN GIANT by ALEXANDER ANDERSON MIND IN CREATION by RICHARD BLACKMORE |