Last Year's Harvest

Since harvest pass'd from out this lonely gate,
Which strains and clatters now in winter's flaw —
With all the merry groups that stirr'd or sate
Among the red wheat, stemm'd with amber straw,
How changed is all the scene! changed by the law
Of death — and I a weary term must wait,
Till once again the seasons reinstate
The glory and the beauty which I saw!
'Twas here I watch'd the mighty landscape stretch'd
To the far hills, through green and azure grades;
'Twas here I studied all its lights and shades;
And from this field, one golden morn, I fetch'd
Some hues for those small tablets, where I paint
My sweetest thoughts, ere they wax cold and faint.