Aftermath (John Frederic Herbin Poems)
August is hot from the touch of an ardent sun,Lolling and still in fields and windless places;Idle all day like ...
August is hot from the touch of an ardent sun,Lolling and still in fields and windless places;Idle all day like ...
On the great sea-marsh where the eddies stray,The mower strikes ere yet the dew is fled.The salt-hay falls before his ...
From the soft dyke-road, crooked and wagon-worn,Comes the great load of rustling scented hay,Slow-drawn with heavy swing and creaky sway,Through ...
Along my father's dykes I roam again,Among the willows by the river-side.These miles of green I know from hill to ...
With the new hay, a dripping, scented load,Comes the slow ox-team with a noiseless treadThrough the thick rain with bent, ...
But late I saw the mower's marching sweepLay bare and dry from upland to the tideThe whole green dyke. Even ...
From the marsh hay-fields, owned of sea and sky,Come the wet scow-loads, drifting with the tide;While fragmentary breezes curl and ...
From dyke to hillside, sways the level sweepOf all the ripened hay, in mid-July;A tideless sea of rustling melody,Beside the ...
In the soft dew-fall of an autumn night,A solitary mower marks his wayWith hissing scythe in the brine-savored hay,Long ere ...
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