The corn is down, The stooks are gone, The fields are brown, And the early dawn Grows slowly behind Where the mountains frown, And a thin white sun Is shivering down. There isn't a leaf, Nor anything green, To aid belief That summer has been; And the puffed-up red-breast (Ball o' Grief) Hops at the window For relief. The cows are in byre, The sheep in fold; The mare and the sire Are safe from cold; The hens are sheltered, In wood and wire, And the sheep-dog snoozes Before the fire. The farmer can grin, And rub his hands, For his crops are in From the resting lands; And his wheat is stored In the oaken bin, And his buxom wife Makes merry within. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MONK IN THE KITCHEN by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH THE BROWN THRUSH by LUCY LARCOM MY MADONNA by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE EHEU, FUGACES! by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS ON THE WATERFRONT by WILLIAM ROSE BENET |