In the soft dew-fall of an autumn night,
A solitary mower marks his way
With hissing scythe in the brine-savored hay,
Long ere the dawn is flooding into light.
While coward fear and doubting dim my sight,
I shame to hear the certain swing and play
Of the strong toiler’s arm, or night or day,
Treading the hours through in faithful might.
Ever he glides with form invisible;
His ringing scythe oft filling the dark plain.
The moving murmur of the coming tide
Stirs the broad night, now full and palpable;
For wholesome pride and faith are mine again
Near the night-mower by the river-side.
(John Frederic Herbin)
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Based on Topics: Night Poems, Light Poems, Sense & Perception Poems, Belief & Faith Poems, Autumn PoemsBased on Keywords: dew-fall