AFTERMATH.
By Longfellow. 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 show, 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 mixed with weeds, Tangled tufts from marsh and meads, Where the poppy drops its seeds In the silence and the gloom.
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Poverty Bay Standard, Volume II, Issue 117, 31 December 1873, Page 1 (Supplement)
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86AFTERMATH. Poverty Bay Standard, Volume II, Issue 117, 31 December 1873, Page 1 (Supplement)
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