On fields o'er which the reaper's hand has pass'd Lit by the harvest moon and autumn sun, My thoughts like stubble floating in the wind And of such fineness as October airs, There after harvest could I glean my life A richer harvest reaping without toil, And weaving gorgeous fancies at my will In subtler webs than finest summer haze. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SEPARATION by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON FOR LAUREL AND HARDY ON MY WORKROOM WALL by DAVID WAGONER AT CASTERBRIDGE FAIR: 7. AFTER THE FAIR by THOMAS HARDY A PRAISE OF HIS LADY by JOHN HEYWOOD THE VIOLET by ALEXANDER ANDERSON TO A. E. HOUSMAN by MARGARET ASH |