There are other things to raise: the question is Whether the soil is suited to the things He tried to raise, or whether it needs building To raise the things he tried to raise, or whether It must be builded up for anything. At least he said the field is clear of stumps. Pass on your field, he said. If I lose out I'll pass it on. The field is his, he said Who can make something grow. And so this field Of waving wheat along which we were driving Was just the very field the scarecrow man Had failed to master, as that other man Had failed to master after him. Hosea Kept talking of this field as we drove on. That field, he said, is economical Of men compared with many fields. You see It only used two men. To grub the stumps Took all the scarecrow's strength. That other man Ran off to Oklahoma from this field. I have known fields that ate a dozen men In country such as this. The field remains And laughs and waits for some one who divines The secret of the field. Some farmers live To prove what can't be done, and narrow down The guess of what is possible. It's right A certain crop should prosper and another Should fail, and when a farmer tries to raise A crop before it's time, he wastes himself And wastes the field to try. We now were climbing To higher hills and rockier fields. Hosea Had fallen into silence. I was thinking About Sir Galahad, was wondering Which man he was, the scarecrow, or the farmer Who didn't know the seed to sow, or whether He might still prove the farmer raising wheat, Now we were come to give him back the field With all the stumps grubbed out, the secret lying Revealed and ready for the appointed hands. We passed an orchard growing on a knoll And saw a barn perked on a rocky hill, And near the barn a house. Hosea said: "This is Sir Galahad's." We tied the horse. And we were in the silence of the country At mid-day on a day in June. No bird Was singing, fowl was cackling, cow was lowing, No dog was barking. All was summer stillness. We crossed a back-yard past a windlass well, Dodged under clothes lines through a place of chips, Walked in a path along the house. I said: "Sir Galahad is ploughing, or perhaps Is mending fences, cutting weeds." It seemed Too bad to come so far and not to find him. "We'll find him," said Hosea. "Let us sit Under that tree and wait for him." And then We turned the corner of the house and
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