Man of the soil, an ageless man, Taut to the acre's yield, He sits his horse in a lordly way And fashions a new-plowed field. He wheels the bay mare up the hill, Over the hill and down Along the slope, and through the gate, Though fields be green or brown... So warmly shines the winter sun Upon the icy glades As though it were the cropping time For spring's new growing blades, And so wistful am I to see his face, I buy new seed again; My backyard garden then becomes A farmer's field of grain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHEN WILL LOVE COME? by PAKENHAM THOMAS BEATTY ONE POET VISITS ANOTHER by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES W'EN I GITS HOME by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE SABBATH MORNING by JOHN LEYDEN AUBADE [OR, A MORNING SONG FOR IMOGEN], FR. CYMBELINE by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE |