They wheel to the fallow lea,

And down the muffled slope descend

To the sleeping sea.

And the fibrous knots of clay,

And the sun-dried clots of earth

Cleave, and the sunset cloaks the grey

Waste and the stony dearth!

O, broad and dusky and sweet,

The sunset covers the weald;

But my dreams are waving with golden wheat

In a still strange field.

My soul, my soul lies bare,

Between the hills and the sea;

Come, ploughman Death, with thy sharp ploughshare,

And plough the field for me.

[Pg 6]

[Pg 6]

THE BANNER

Who in the gorgeous vanguard of the years

With wingèd helmet glistens, let him hold

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