Aftermath
When the summer fields are mown, When the birds are fledged and flown, And the dry leaves strew the path; With the falling of the snow, With the cawing of the crow, Once again the fields we mow And gather in the aftermath. Not the sweet, new grass with flowers Is this harvesting of ours; Not the upland clover bloom; But the rowen mired with weeds, Tangled tufts from marsh and meads, Where the poppy drops its seeds In the silence and the gloom.
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"When the summer fields are mown,..."
Exploring the themes of classic, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow delivers a powerful performance in "Aftermath"... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...