Tarry not to tell All the fruits that cumber, Husk and rind and shell, Acres without number, Now is time for slumber. Let the bough be shaken. Let the cluster fall And the best be taken Till the pile is tall. Still it is not all. Those the cattle trample Leave beneath the tree, Amber-bruised, but ample For the laggard bee, Others such as he. Tally not the sum. Sharper air is reaping All that lingers. Come, Make an end of heaping. Now is time for sleeping. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HYBRIDS OF WAR: A MORALITY POEM: 4. THE MORAL by KAREN SWENSON A MUSICAL by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR NEW YEAR'S EVE by THOMAS HARDY ON AN INVITATION TO THE UNITED STATES by THOMAS HARDY IPHIGENEIA AND AGAMEMNON, FR. THE HELLENICS by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR ECHO [OR, ECHOES] by THOMAS MOORE |