Qordon TS ottomley THE PLOUGHMAN UNDER the long fells stony eaves The ploughman, going up and down. Ridge after ridge mans tide-mark leaves, And turns the hard grey soil to brown. Striding, he measures out the earth In lines of life, to rain and sun; And every year that comes to birth Sees him still striding on and on. The seasons change, and then return; Yet still, in blind, unsparing ways, However I may shrink or yearn, The ploughman measures out my days. His acre brought forth roots last year; This year it bears the gleamy grain; Next Spring shall seedling grass appear: Then roots and corn and grass again. Five times the young corns pallid green I have seen spread and change and thrill; Five times the reapers I have seen Go creeping up the far-off hill: A nd, as the unknowing ploughman climbs Slowly and inveterately, I wonder long how many times The corn will spring again for me.
(Typographical errors above are due to OCR software and don't occur in the book.)
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