Songs of the Common Day, and Ave!

An Ode for the Shelley Centenary

by Charles G.D. Roberts


 

THE FURROW


 

How sombre slope these acres to the sea
     And to the breaking sun! The sun-rise deeps
     Of rose and crocus, whence the far dawn leaps,
Gild but with scorn their grey monotony.
The glebe rests patient for its joy to be.
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     Past the salt field-foot many a dim wing sweeps;
     And down the field a first slow furrow creeps,
Pledge of near harvests to the unverdured lea.

With clank of harness tramps the serious team—
     The sea air thrills their nostrils. Some wise crows

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     Feed confidently behind the ploughman's feet.
In the early chill the clods fresh cloven steam,
     And down its griding path the keen share goes:
     So, from a scar, best flowers the future's sweet.