Saturday, September 20, 2014

Before Harvest / W.M. MacKeracher

Before Harvest 

And now 'tis time for Harvest. Hark! and lo,
     With ringing sound of full melodious horn,
Over yon eastern hill-top all aglow,—
     Her sickle gleaming in the golden morn,
     Her arm upraised with sheaf of yellow corn,—
She comes elate with light, elastic pace;
     Her neck and zone full-clustered vines adorn;
Her saffron locks, fruit-crowned; her luscious grace;
Her round and ripened form; her fair, benignant face.

And now the fields, when suns serenely greet,
     A rich and mellow, wanton joy afford:
The russet pease vines, and the burnished wheat
     And whiter barley,— hating to be stored,
     Guarding with jealous spears their precious hoard,—
The tapering oat-stalk, dangling beads of gold:
     In brilliant sea of beauty all outpoured,
With dazzling depth of splendor all untold,
Where fleets of zephyrs skip in fold that follows fold

Like to a dream I had but yesternight,
     Of pure, transporting, childlike playfulness.
The presence of a fair-haired, blue-eyed, bright,
     Thoughtless and laughing.— Words can not express
     In poet phrase the fulness that did bless
Entrancingly my vision. I advanced
     Behind to worship. Straight each golden tress
Was ruffled and about my face they danced,
Smoth'ring with beauty, while the maiden gleeful glanced.

W.M. MacKeracher (1871-1913)
from Vacation Verse, 1891 

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

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