<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=374327" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Harvest</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">So there's my year, the twelvemonth duly told<br>Since last I climbed this brow and gloated round<br>Upon the lands heaped with their wheaten gold,<br>And now again they spread with wealth imbrowned -<br>And thriftless I meanwhile,<br>What honeycombs have I to take, what sheaves to pile?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I see some shrivelled fruits upon my tree,<br>And gladly would self-kindness feign them sweet;<br>The bloom smelled heavenly, can these stragglers be<br>The fruit of that bright birth and this wry wheat,<br>Can this be from those spires<br>Which I, or fancy, saw leap to the spring sun's fires?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I peer, I count, but anxious is not rich,<br>My harvest is not come, the weeds run high;<br>Even poison-berries, ramping from the ditch<br>Have stormed the undefended ridges by;<br>What Michaelmas is mine!<br>The fields I sought to serve, for sturdier tilage pine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But hush - Earth's valleys sweet in leisure lie;<br>And I among them wandering up and down<br>Will taste their berries, like the bird or fly,<br>And of their gleanings make both feast and crown.<br>The Sun's eye laughing looks.<br>And Earth accuses none that goes among her stooks.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Edmund+Blunden">Edmund Blunden</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=374327" data-title="Harvest de Edmund Blunden" data-description="So there's my year, the twelvemonth duly told Since last I climbed this brow and gloated round Upon the lands heaped with their wheaten gold, And now again they spread with wealth imbrowned - And thriftless I meanwhile, What honeycombs have I to t..."></div> </div> </div>

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