Classic Poem

I harrowed my land with the harrow of love,
And swift were the horses that drew the harrow;
But the stones of the earth drew sharp above,
And I could not touch the earth's deep marrow.

My horses were weary at set of sun,
Footsore and tired I laid me down
Glad that the long day's work was done;
But in sleep I harrowed the hillside brown.

The seed that I planted grew awry,
Tares and thistles grew up with my corn,
My horses were lank and like to die;
" I have done as they told me to, " said I,
And I rued that I was a farmer born.

But when the autumn came brown and sere
I brought out a long deep-furrowing plough,
And slowly to far and back to near
I lifted the earth and made it bow.

And the sight of the bright rich loam to me
Was dear, and the smell of the earth most sweet;
My horses grew strong, as patiently
They toiled all day with slow-moving feet.

The earth rejoiced in the wintry air,
And the long deep furrows drew down the sun,
And the rain made fertile what once was bare,
And I planted my seed when all was done.

Thick and heavy my acres of wheat:
They sing with laughter in every breeze.
I shall have bread and enough to eat
When I am grown old and take my ease.

So I say to you farmers, love your earth
And plough her deep in the spring of the year;
She repays your labour with magic mirth
And in seed-time tells of the full-grown ear.

Turn a face of scorn to the lying knaves
Who tell you the earth's as God has made it,
And are frightened to see it tossed as waves
Of the sea when the wind and tide upbraid it.

Deep and long let your furrowing be:
The earth sings sweeter the more you plough her;
Plough the earth deep her bounty to see,
Only the plough sets the dark earth free,
And the earth will free you if you'll allow her.