140
POEMS OF THE OPEN AIR.
REAPERS.
Sun-tanned men and women, toiling there together;
Seven I count in all, in yon field of wheat,
Where the rich ripe ears in the harvest weather
Glow an orange gold through the sweltering heat.
Busy life is still, sunk in brooding leisure:
Birds have hushed their singing in the hushed tree-tops;
Not a single cloud mars the flawless azure;
Not a shadow moves o'er the moveless crops;
In the glassy shallows, that no breath is creasing,
Chestnut-coloured cows in the rushes dank
