|
|
Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THRESHING MACHINE, by MARY HEILING First Line: It stands, a squat figure, like a buddha Last Line: A yellow-saffron mountain. Subject(s): Threshing Machines | |||
It stands, a squat figure, like a Buddha, In an army of bared yellow heads. It reaches out huge arms in bold petition And the sheaves of a harvest bow in submission. With a quivering body And a head flung upward to the sky, Its eager defiant voice is raised in song, Flinging a golden tribute to a throng Of clouds, and to the sun -- and they look on. Its song is endless, tireless, merciless; But evening comes And the brain-child of the earth at harvest-time Is silent -- Its arms are folded stiffly on its breast And the fountain of its golden song Is but a vibrant hum in the ear of evening. It goes to sleep beside its booty -- A yellow-saffron mountain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE THRESHING MACHINE by ALICE MEYNELL TO ABRAHAM LINCOLN by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON OBERON'S FEAST by ROBERT HERRICK AN OLD SWEETHEART [OF MINE] by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY JACK CREAMER [OCTOBER 25, 1812] by JAMES JEFFREY ROCHE DEEDS OF VALOR AT SANTIAGO by CLINTON SCOLLARD WESTWARD BOUND by BETSY H. ASHMORE THE DESCENDANT AND THE ID (MONOLOGUE IN REGARD TO HEREDITY) by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH |
| |