Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
The PloughmanGordon Bottomley
U
The ploughman, going up and down,
Ridge after ridge man’s tide-mark leaves,
And turn the hard gray soil to brown.
In lines of life, to rain and sun;
And every year that comes to birth
Sees him still striding on and on.
Yet still, in blind unsparing ways,
However I may shrink or yearn,
The ploughman measures out my days.
This year it bears the gleamy grain;
Next spring shall seedling grass appear:
Then roots and corn and grass again.
I have seen spread and change and thrill;
Five times the reapers I have seen
Go creeping up the far-off hill:
Slowly and inveterately,
I wonder long how many times
The corn will spring again for me.