A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields/Landscape (Georges Lafenestre)
LANDSCAPE.
[[Author::Georges Lafenestre|GEORGES LAFENESTRE]].
On the wet plateau of the sandy shore,
Where green sea-weeds their own sad fate deplore,
Left by the tide's forgetful wave to rot,
When it receded murmuring from the spot,
Bulls with broad dewlaps, cows in careworn plight,
Heifers that startle at the curlew's flight,
With solemn steps, and balancing their heads,
Dull, as reluctant to forsake their beds
Of straw, descend, preceded one by one,
By their long shadows in the risen sun;
Around the black reefs ranged along the creek
The herd dispersed, kneel noiseless, docile, meek,
And to the salt wind from the sea that blows,
With wide dilated nostrils tinged with rose,
Voluptuous turn large eyes, they half unclose.
It seems, as if the sea in pensive mood
To rock Life's rest, hath changed its manner rude,
And hardly dares upon the silver sand
To roll its waves except with murmurs bland.
Unwrinkled, like a forehead without care,
It spreads in peace, and hills that rise in air
In a horizon limpid, scattered grand,
Gird it in part, like a transparent band,
A veil of azure that shall float away
When the wind rises with the rising day.
Opens above, the blue, blue firmament,
Where large and pale, but yet magnificent,
The sun is seen, lord of eternal light!
Seagulls traverse his rays, in long, long flight.
The sea and sky, forgetting that they seal
Snows, and fierce waves, that make the navies reel,
Without a threat to-day, or surge, or cloud,
Call on each other. Well may both be proud
To blend the depths of their serenity,
Symbol as each is of eternity!
And earth that suffers, earth that men degrade,
Pleased with the splendour everywhere displayed,
Seems almost, like a child surprised, to fear
This dream of happiness may disappear
Too quickly from its sight. In sheltering boughs
Birds waken and repeat their songs and vows;
The fishers, humming, on the steep white rock
March two and two, and, careful of their stock,
Hang upon rusty hooks their humid nets
Whence shivering vapours rise. By rivulets
On which the elm-trees lean, near roofs of thatch,
A Babel of young voices, or a snatch
From some old ballad, or sweet laughter shrill,
Shows where the girls bleach clothes beside a mill;
Rough wooden shoes upon the pebbles sound;
Old dames with busy feet the wheel turn round;
And 'mid these songs of women, birds and springs,
The murmurs of the flowers that ask for wings,
The cries, inexpressively soft and sweet,
Of infants waking in their snug retreat,
Half-naked, while their mothers hang above
Their cradle-beds and utter words of love,—
In the deep calm and thoughtful joy that reign,
Sudden is heard along the humid plain,
Like a voice sent from heaven with day new-born,
To make the unknown future less forlorn,
The low, low rustle of the ripening corn.