If you missed the first installment, which provided some background information regarding Margery Clute's poetry, you can read it here.
The Ploughman
Were we but to follow
Like the tiny sparrow
The ploughman as he turns his furrow
With no thought for the morrow!
Time turns our thoughts to higher things
As ploughshares turn the hefty clods
So that we are left at odds
With this material world, that springs
From that same instinct that inspires
The tiny sparrow's song!
O, that we need not wait too long
To kindle the immortal fires!
Margery Clute (1824-76)
Handel Rigaudon
6 months ago
2 comments:
Where was Margery last Saturday? Was she slacking? I missed her.
Shades of Gray's Elegy in this one, I think. And the inspired rhyming of 'clods' with 'odds' is particularly felicitous.
I do like this one! A sort of rush of naive exuberance.
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