FLIGHT THE THIRD - Aftermath

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FLIGHT THE THIRD: Aftermath

 

When the summer fields are mown,
When the birds are fledged and flown,
And the dry leaves strew the path;
With the falling of the snow,
With the cawing of the crow,
Once again the fields we mow
And gather in the aftermath.

Not the sweet, new grass with flowers
Is this harvesting of ours;
Not the upland clover bloom;
But the rowen mired with weeds,
Tangled tufts from marsh and meads,
Where the poppy drops its seeds
In the silence and the gloom.

 

 

Content of FLIGHT THE THIRD: Aftermath [Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's poem collection: Birds of Passage]

Read next: THE MASQUE OF PANDORA#I - The Workshop of Hephaestus

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