Songs of the Common Day, and Ave!

An Ode for the Shelley Centenary

by Charles G.D. Roberts


 

THE OAT-THRESHING


 

A LITTLE brown old homestead, bowered in trees
     That o'er the Autumn landscape shine afar,
     Burning with amber and with cinnabar.
A yellow hillside washed in airy seas
Of azure, where the swallow drops and flees.
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     Midway the slope, clear in the beaming day,
     A barn by many seasons beaten grey,
Big with the gain of prospering husbandries.

In billows round the wide red welcoming doors
     High piles the golden straw; while from within,

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     Where plods the team amid the chaffy din,
The loud pulsation of the thresher soars,
     Persistent as if earth could not let her cease
     This happy proclamation of her peace.