THE blackbirds sing so sweetly in the morning; They are building a nest yonder in the hedgerow, where I pass at sunrise: and I think their song is sweeter then than else at any time of day. I take care not to disturb them: they work as hard as anybody for their living. And I think they know me now, they are that bold. But they do not follow in the furrow, like the wagtails and robins; they seem to hang to the grass-lands. It is pleasant then, in the morning: the air is so sweet. And the smell of the earth—and I like the warm smell of the horses. Jeannie goes in the furrow, and Rob on the fallow: they go very steady; And when the ground is soft-like, it's good enough going, but when it's stiff it stretches your arms a bit: Lord! it does make you sweat! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BEN JONSON ENTERTAINS A MAN FROM STRATFORD by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON THE AGE OF WISDOM by WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY INSOMNIA by EDITH MATILDA THOMAS L. OF G.'S PURPORT by WALT WHITMAN VENDEMIAIRE by GUILLAUME APOLLINAIRE A WRECKED LOCOMOTIVE by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE THE SHEPHERD'S PIPE: THIRD ECLOGUE by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) |