The year had rushed along through May and June, And my own natal month, her goal to win; And now the fruitful sheaves were coming in; The glow of August made the barren moon As mellow as the corn-lands. One bright field, Which to the southward sloped, enhancing all The beauty of the view, was last to fall Before the sweeping scythe. Its doom was sealed; I grieved to think how fleet and fugitive Are all our joys, how near to change or harm: And how that azure distance would outlive Its golden foreground, losing half its charm! But I remembered, ere I looked again, That fallen corn is bread, and many a loss true gain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LOVER IN HELL by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET WHAT I'VE BELIEVED IN by JAMES GALVIN JULY IN GEORGY by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON EPISTLE TO MR. MURRAY by GEORGE GORDON BYRON DREAMS (2) by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR DICKENS IN CAMP by FRANCIS BRET HARTE THE EARLY PRIMROSE by HENRY KIRKE WHITE |