Harvest

Last night we saw the sunlight fall
Beyond the gate and old stone wall,
And brighten on the stocks of wheat,
Ripe after days of brooding heat;
And in the lane we lingered long,
Then homeward turned, a sleepy throng.
Yet glad to hail the joyful day,
We rose while still the dawn was grey,
And roused the house, a merry band,
The happiest children in the land;
And all were dressed, and breakfast done,
Before the day had well begun.
The sun looked out, and quickly dried
The gleaming dew, and glorified
The broad array of clustered sheaves,
And pierced the lane’s green roof of leaves,
And shone in strength, as one and all
Trooped to the gate and moss-grown wall.
And mother came, with Margery
Our eldest sister, pleased to see
The busy harvesters and hear
Our cries of triumph shrill and clear,
As heavy waggons loaded high
With rustling sheaves came rumbling by.
Late in the golden afternoon,
Yet long before the rising moon,
The last great waggon-load was piled,
And, lovely still, the sunlight smiled
Above the toilers resting there,
And those broad acres reaped and bare.