tisdag 8 september 2009


Autumn comes, her prospects glow
'''With yellow fields of waving corn;
The reaper with his sickle bright,
'''Hastes to work at early morn.
Whilst the morning breezes blow,
'' 'Through the burning sultry noon,
And till evening dews descend,
'''Still he works and labours on.

Let us seek the harvest field,
'' There is work for you and me?
We can help the sheaves to bind:
'' Idle hands we need not be.

When Maria's task is done,
'' We will to the nut-wood go;
Each a bag and hooked stick,
'' Down to pull the cluster'd bough.

Oh! how tempting ripe they hang:
'' Softly, softly pull them down,
Lest the bright brown nuts should fall,
'' And leave the empty husk alone.

Bags and pockets all are full,
'' And evening says we must not stay;
With heavy loads we'll hasten home,
'' And come again another day.
From "The Keepsake - or, Poems and Pictures for Childhood and Youth", 1818,
by Anonymous

2 kommentarer:

  1. Gosh, Margaretha, this brought tears to my eyes. I want to be 'in' the poem, going to that nut-wood. I can just feel the air.

  2. Nan,
    It's hard to say exactly what it is, but I feel the same way many times when I read old books and poems. I guess that's why I so often escape to old books.