Charles Plumb
Atlantic Grain
(To. D)
Men shall eat bread herefrom,
Strong men outworn,
The wire fingers tired with lissom
Cutting of corn.
So from the summer of your pride,
Now the wind blows on,
More than beauties betide,
And mind is born,
Harvesting what is grown,
To that wind-harp
And the dim sea-horn,
Till the scythe snap.
Page(s) 32
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