At Middle‑Field Gate in February
The bars are thick with drops that show
As they gather themselves from the fog
Like silver buttons ranged in a row,
And as evenly spaced as if measured, although
They fall at the feeblest jog.
They load the leafless hedge hard by,
And the blades of last year's grass,
While the [fallow ploughland]1 turned up nigh
In raw rolls, clammy and clogging lie
Too clogging for feet to pass.
How dry it was on a farback day
When straws hung the hedge and around,
When amid the sheaves in amorous play
In curtained bonnets and light array
Bloomed a bevy now underground!
View original text (without footnotes)
1 or "arable ridges"
Submitted by Emily Ezust [Administrator]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)
Text added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Last modified: 2014-06-16 10:01:31
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Word count: 103
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