Harvest-Home

Late in September came our corn-crops home,
Late, but full-ear'd — by many a merry noise
Of matron and of maid, young girls and boys,
Preceded, flank'd and follow'd, did they come;
A general joy! for piles of unwrought food
For man and beast, on those broad axles prest,
And strain'd those sinewy necks in garlands drest;
The harebell and the ragwort wondering stood
As the slow teams wound up that grassy lane;
All knew the husbandman's long task was done;
While, as they crost his disk, the setting sun
Blazed momently betwixt each rolling wain
And that which follow'd, piled with golden grain,
As if to gratulate the harvest won.