When the reaper lays the sickle by,
When the reaper lays the sickle by,
And taketh down the flail:
When all we prized, and all we planned,
Is ripe and stored at last,
And Autumn looks across the land,
And ponders on the Past.
poem by Alfred Austin
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Related quotes
Since We Must Die
Though we must die, I would not die
When fields are brown and bleak,
When wild-geese stream across the sky,
And the cart-lodge timbers creak.
For it would be so lone and drear
To sleep beneath the snow,
When children carol Christmas cheer,
And Christmas rafters glow.
Nor would I die, though we must die,
When yeanlings blindly bleat,
When the cuckoo laughs, and lovers sigh,
And O, to live is sweet!
When cowslips come again, and Spring
Is winsome with their breath,
And Life's in love with everything-
With everything but Death.
Let me not die, though we must die,
When bowls are brimmed with cream,
When milch-cows in the meadows lie,
Or wade amid the stream;
When dewy-dimpled roses smile
To see the face of June,
And lad and lass meet at the stile,
Or roam beneath the moon.
Since we must die, then let me die
When flows the harvest ale,
When the reaper lays the sickle by,
And taketh down the flail;
When all we prized, and all we planned,
Is ripe and stored at last,
And Autumn looks across the land,
And ponders on the past:
Then let me die.
poem by Alfred Austin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Agricultural, Implements and Machinery
Poor laborers, they did sad bewail,
When the machine displaced the flail ;
Theres little work, now, with the hoes,
Since cultivators weed the rows.
Labor it became more fickle
When the scythe took place of sickle ;
Labor still it did sink lower
By introduction of mower ;
And the work was done much cheaper
When they added on the reaper.
Another machine to it they join,
Mower, reaper, binder, they combine.
Machines now load and stow away
Both the barley and the hay,
And the farmers do get richer
With the loader and the pitcher.
Theres little work now for the hoes,
Since cultivators weed the rows ;
They sow and rake by the machine-
Hand labor's 'mong the things have been.
Armed with scythes, the old war chariot
Cut down men in the fierce war riot ;
Round farmer's chariot falls the slain,
But 'tis the sheaves of golden grain.
This harvest, now, of eighty-four,
Will great wealth on farmers pour,
For there is abundant yield
Of fruitful crops in every field.
poem by James McIntyre
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Thats The Way God Planned It
Why cant we be humble
Like the good lord said?
He promised to exault us
[...]
How man be so greedy
When theres so much land?
All things are God give
And they all have been blessed
Thats the way God planned it
Thats the way God wants it to be
Thats the way God planned it
Thats the way God wants it to be
Let not your heart beat trotta
[...] sees
Learn how to help each one another
And live in perfect peace
If wed all just be humbler
Like the good lord said
He promised to exault us
But [..] in the way
Thats the way God planned it
Thats the way he wants it to be
Youve got to believe me
Thats the way God planned it
Thats the way God wants it to be
I hope you get this message
When you [...]
You may not understand me
But [...]
Thats the way God planned it
Thats the way God wants it to be
Come on, come on, come on now
Youve got to believe me
Thats the way God planned it
Thats the way God wants it to be
Come on, yeah, yeah, come on now
Thats the way God planned it
Thats the way God wants it to be
Yeah yeah yeah
Thats the way God planned it
Thats the way God wants it to be
Yeah yeah yeah
Thats the way God planned it
Thats the way God wants it to be
song performed by by George Harrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Unbroken cycle. for M lady Ernestine
Englyn Prost Dalgron.
Seasons come and seasons go.
Summer sun or winter snow.
That is all we need to know.
Winter is replaced by spring.
Summer ripens everything.
Autumn will the harvest bring.
When the harvests gathered in
Safely stored in box and bin
Then the winter will begin.
Nature brooks no argument.
She carries out her intent.
With or without our consent.
Spring, Summer and Autumn too.
Each has its own job to do.
Perfectly planned in my view.
Monday,11 January 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Pirouetting Autumn
The tree blushed - a rude blast of air
Betrayed a shapely bough.
My saddened heart aware
That Nature's clock was chiming,
I froze upon the twelfth
Clanging tone, caught alone,
Staring at a creaking door -
Left ajar for dancing, coloured Autumn,
Pirouetting in her leaves,
While agitated summer creatures
Backed away resignedly,
Sighing in protracted breves.
I turned; gave company;
We stood together, watching
Summer slowly blow away.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
A utumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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This Is Your Land
This is your land
Its the way it was planned
Sky to the sea, something to see
Old ancient town, to the old people ground
I wanna know, something to go
This is your land, laid out in your hand
This is your land
Wherever I go, way down here I know
This is your land
Oh churches and steeples, big city people
I wanna know something to hold
Walk down the track, to the old railroad track
I wanna leave something to see
This is your land, laid out in your hand
This is your land
Wherever I go, way down here I know
This is your land
Money cant buy me
Money cant buy me
Ive got time
Time is on my side
You dont know what youve got till the whole things gone
The days are dark and the road is long
And when you walk away, the hope is gone
Tell me what is right, and what is wrong
Is this the way it was planned
This is your land, take it in your hand
This is your land
Wherever I go, way down here I know
This is your land, take it in your hand
This is your land
Wherever I go, way down here I know
This is your land
Words and music : simple minds reproduced without permission
song performed by by Simple Minds
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fate Life Taste Tickle
fate is ever pleasant or fickle
chance casts changes fortunes pickle
grim reaper fells life tickle
with single sweep of well timed sickle
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Memories II
Dreams steal soft thoughts from secret store.
How sad to gaze upon the shore
where once we wandered, long before
the fickle sickle struck shared core.
Like Autumn leaves windfall from trees,
what trace remains? Will memories
of old love linger on Time’s breeze
when we’re forgotten set of keys?
From secret store dreams steal soft thoughts
the sharing with the love one courts,
caring unchallenged in the courts.
When we’re statistical reports,
like leaves from Autumn trees, which fall,
what will remain, when over all
Time lays its winding sheet to call
game, set and match? What will befall? ...
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Season of Mists
I thank you for your view of a view of autumn, Keats
who never saw your own autumn with its actual pitfalls.
Yours was the autumn of childhood, of hope, or romance, of belief,
my mother's autumn though not that of her hardworking family,
yours was never my father's autumn, season of mists,
and yours is not mine. My autumn
for all I would like to subscribe to your lavish play,
is like yours only in single ways each year,
perhaps there are swallows making a din,
or plums and apples falling wasp-eaten, unharvestable.
There is no sickle in my vocabulary or shed,
my autumn is based more on dread of the winter
and having had so little time each summer
to tidy or attend to the garden. Last year
early snow fell on flower baskets ditched from the street
and remained both snow and baskets until the spring
leaving me two seasons behind, without strategy
for a fast approaching repeat autumn, little wonder
and no chance to make anything faintly rhyme,
such is our modern poetry and life
poem by Sally Evans
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Reaper And The Flowers
There is a Reaper whose name is Death,
And, with his sickle keen,
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,
And the flowers that grow between.
``Shall I have nought that is fair?'' saith he;
``Have nought but the bearded grain?
Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me,
I will give them all back again.''
He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes,
He kissed their drooping leaves;
It was for the Lord of Paradise
He bound them in his sheaves.
``My Lord has need of these flowerets gay,''
The Reaper said, and smiled;
``Dear tokens of the earth are they,
Where he was once a child.
``They shall all bloom in fields of light,
Transplanted by my care,
And saints, upon their garments white,
These sacred blossoms wear.''
And the mother gave, in tears and pain,
The flowers she most did love;
She knew she should find them all again
In the fields of light above.
O, not in cruelty, not in wrath,
The Reaper came that day;
'Twas an angel visited the green earth,
And took the flowers away.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Voices Of The Night : The Reaper And The Flowers
There is a Reaper whose name is Death,
And, with his sickle keen,
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,
And the flowers that grow between.
'Shall I have nought that is fair?' saith he;
'Have nought but the bearded grain?
Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me,
I will give them all back again.'
He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes,
He kissed their drooping leaves;
It was for the Lord of Paradise
He bound them in his sheaves.
'My Lord has need of these flowerets gay,'
The Reaper said, and smiled;
'Dear tokens of the earth are they,
Where he was once a child.
'They shall all bloom in fields of light,
Transplanted by my care,
And saints, upon their garments white,
These sacred blossoms wear.'
And the mother gave, in tears and pain,
The flowers she most did love;
She knew she should find them all again
In the fields of light above.
O, not in cruelty, not in wrath,
The Reaper came that day;
'Twas an angel visited the green earth,
And took the flowers away.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Love’s Harvest
Nay, do not quarrel with the seasons, dear,
Nor make an enemy of friendly Time.
The fruit and foliage of the failing year
Rival the buds and blossoms of its prime.
Is not the harvest moon as round and bright
As that to which the nightingales did sing?
And thou, that call'st thyself my satellite,
Wilt seem in Autumn all thou art in Spring.
When steadfast sunshine follows fitful rain,
And gleams the sickle where once passed the plough,
Since tender green hath grown to mellow grain,
Love then will gather what it scattereth now,
And, like contented reaper, rest its head
Upon the sheaves itself hath harvested.
poem by Alfred Austin
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Studying New Maneuvers
Where is your prized horse?
The one that leads the pack,
Whenever I am on the track...
Just to practice.
Where is your prized horse?
The one you let loose to run the course.
To distract with an attraction,
To have me viewed by the others...
As the one to beat.
After you believe,
The releasing of your prized horse...
Should first be the one to wear me down.
Where is your prized horse?
The one that leads the pack,
Whenever I am on the track...
Just to practice.
Or have you come alone to take notes.
Get chummy and share a few jokes.
Believing I have an ego,
Unaware of every detail of my doing.
Where is your prized horse?
Studying new maneuvers,
To undo what comes natural to me?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Planned Ahead
Planned ahead of time,
And in complete control of everythin that went on;
But remember that my love is always with you.
Live and trade in this land,
For this land shall be opened up to you;
So don't let your past atrocities destroy your future success.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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We can be like they are.
All our times have come
Here but now they're gone
Seasons don't fear the reaper
Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain..we can be like they are
Come on baby...don't fear the reaper
Baby take my hand...don't fear the reaper
We'll be able to fly...don't fear the reaper
Baby I'm your man...
Valentine is done
Here but now they're gone
Romeo and Juliet
Are together in eternity...Romeo and Juliet
40,000 men and women everyday...Like Romeo and Juliet
40,000 men and women everyday...Redefine happiness
Another 40,000 coming everyday...We can be like they are
Come on baby...don't fear the reaper
Baby take my hand...don't fear the reaper
We'll be able to fly...don't fear the reaper
Baby I'm your man...
Love of two is one
Here but now they're gone
Came the last night of sadness
And it was clear she couldn't go on
Then the door was open and the wind appeared
The candles blew then disappeared
The curtains flew then he appeared...saying don't be afraid
Come on baby...and she had no fear
And she ran to him...then they started to fly
They looked backward and said goodbye...she had become like they are
She had taken his hand...she had become like they are
Come on baby...don't fear the reaper
poem by Jacob Bryant
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(Don't Fear) The Reaper
[Lyrics by Donald Roeser]
[Arranged by HIM]
All our times have come
Here but now they're gone
Seasons don't fear the reaper
Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain
We can be like they are
Come on baby... Don't fear the Reaper
Baby take my hand... Don't fear the Reaper
We'll be able to fly... Don't fear the Reaper
Baby I'm your man...
Valentine is done
Here but now they're gone
Romeo and Juliet
Are together in eternity...
Romeo and Juliet
40,000 men and women everyday... Like Romeo and
Juliet
40,000 men and women everyday... Redefine
happiness
Another 40,000 coming everyday...We can be like
they are
Come on baby... Don't fear the Reaper
Baby take my hand... Don't fear the Reaper
We'll be able to fly... Don't fear the Reaper
Baby I'm your man...
Love of two is one
Here but now they're gone
Came the last night of sadness
And it was clear she couldn't go on
Then the door was open and the wind appeared
The candles blew then disappeared
The curtains flew then he appeared
Saying don't be afraid
Come on baby... And she had no fear
And she ran to him... Then they started to fly
They looked backward and said goodbye
She had become like they are
She had taken his hand
She had become like they are
Come on baby...don't fear the reaper
song performed by by H.I.M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Old Mother Nature's One Powerful Device
The oil beneath land began to run out,
So they decided to look under the sea,
To do this, the laws of nature they flout,
Their black gold they just had to free.
They kept on drilling but nothing was found,
So they decided to go down even deeper,
To a place that was so far underground,
They eventually found the grim reaper.
He said you're in an area you can't control,
What will you do if something goes wrong?
The oil barons said we're now on a roll,
Extracting oil is where we belong.
Suddenly their drill went through the ocean floor,
We've done it they were heard to cry,
The grim reaper said, you've breached the Earths core,
I'm afraid you're all now going to die.
You've went much deeper than you ever planned,
They said we needed to put in our well,
The reaper replied you'll now be well tanned,
For you've opened up the gates of Hell.
There was no crude oil just a toxic mass,
Red hot lava then boiled the ocean,
The atmosphere was filled with a poisonous gas,
For life on Earth there was no magic potion.
You wouldn't jump in a hole or cross the road blind,
Without taking heed of the dangers,
Digging a hole not knowing what you'll find,
Is like dining with poisonous strangers.
Greed for the black stuff has now sealed your fate,
For your incompetence you've paid the ultimate price,
The balance of life you refused to placate,
‘' Old Mother Nature's One Powerful Device ‘'
Winter Comes A'Calling
Oh, Winter comes a'calling
To dampen life's warming days
Spreading across the meadow
Where the last leaf of autumn lays
How sadly does the dying leaf
Flutter ~ to the frosty ground
Its glow a fading ember
Falling softly ~ without a sound
No more to see the sunrise
Above the forest ~ deeply green
Nor to treasure the glowing twilight
As it passes now ~ unseen
Oh, yes ~ Old Winter's a'calling
Where the barren trees now stand
Spreading ~ a darkened silence
With the touch of its chilly hand
The Winter brings the ending
Of our summer and autumn days
Their warm memories ~ are now buried
Where the last leaf of autumn lays......
poem by Hazelmarie Elliott
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Today, A Phantom. (A Triolet)
Heavy it lays upon my heart,
that today is a morrows past,
what there is now, an end, -a start,
heavy it lays upon my heart,
tragic mask when does break apart,
bleak, oh! Gloomy shadows it cast.
Heavy it lays upon my heart,
that today is a morrows past.
R.N.Khan, © 2011
poem by Raja Nosherwan
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