But late I saw the mower’s marching sweep
Lay bare and dry from upland to the tide
The whole green dyke. Even the bright hill-side
In scattered rose and golden-rod lay deep.
Swift wheel the busy birds of prey, and leap
Through the bright sunlight nowhere now denied;
Where thick and close the shielding grasses dyed:
And the full barns the sweet hay-odors keep.
Then night shed tears on the uncovered fields,
Lying in barrenness, a stubbly waste;
Where, like a raging fire, the scythe has been.
To-day the aftermath renews and shields
All the denuded dykes with kindly haste;
And everywhere again the plains are green.
(John Frederic Herbin)
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Based on Topics: Fire Poems, Anger Poems, Haste PoemsBased on Keywords: dykes, golden-rod, denuded, stubbly