Corn

IN AUGUST

CORN

Now the wheat turns tall

And the rye runs silver,

And roses bloom in the hedge;

And the brown quail call

From the clover meadow,

And blackbirds swing on the sedge.

Now the sunburnt men

And the sweating horses

Go out in the breathless morn,

Turn again and again

As the slow shares furrow

The brittle bright blades of corn.

With the setting sun

The horses turn homeward,

The sweat on their flanks dried white;

And their labor done,

The ploughmen are resting;

But the corn grows all the night.