BROTHER that ploughs the furrow I late ploughed, God give thee grace, and fruitful harvesting, 'Tis fair sweet earth, be it under sun or cloud, And all about it ever the birds sing. Yet do I pray your seed fares not as mine That sowed there stars along with good white grain, But reaped thereof -- be better fortune thine -- Nettles and bitter herbs, for all my gain. Inclement seasons and black winds, perchance, Poisoned and soured the fragrant fecund soil, Till I sowed poppies 'gainst remembrance, And took to other furrows my laughing toil. And other men as I that ploughed before Shall watch thy harvest, trusting thou mayst reap Where we have sown, and on your threshing floor Have honest grain within thy barns to keep. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FIRESIDE by NATHANIEL COTTON WHEN ON THE MARGE OF EVENING by LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY A CHRISTMAS GHOST-STORY; CHRISTMAS-EVE 1899 by THOMAS HARDY IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 54 by ALFRED TENNYSON THE MASQUERADE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |