THE SCARECROW
All winter through I bow my head, Beneath the driving rain; The North wind powders me with snow And blows me black again; At midnight ’neath a maze of stars I flame with glittering rime. And stand above the stubble, stiff As mail at morning-prime. But when that child called spring, and all His host of children, come Scattering their buds and dew upon These acres of my home. Some rapture in my rags awakes; T lift void eyes and scan The skies for crows, those ravening foes. Of my strange master, Man. [ watch him striding lank behind His clashing team, and know Soon will the wheat swish body high Where once lay sterile snow: Soon shall I gaze across a sea Of sun-begotten grain, Which my unflinching watch hath sealed For harvest once again. Walter de la Mare.
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/SUNAK19270622.2.158.7
Bibliographic details
Sun (Auckland), Volume 1, Issue 77, 22 June 1927, Page 14
Word Count
141THE SCARECROW Sun (Auckland), Volume 1, Issue 77, 22 June 1927, Page 14
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