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Songs
of the Common Day, and Ave!
An
Ode for the Shelley Centenary
by
Charles G.D. Roberts
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THE
OAT-THRESHING
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A LITTLE
brown old homestead, bowered in trees
That o'er the Autumn
landscape shine afar,
Burning with amber
and with cinnabar.
A yellow hillside washed in airy seas
Of azure, where the swallow drops and flees.
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Midway the slope,
clear in the beaming day,
A barn by many seasons
beaten grey,
Big with the gain of prospering husbandries.
In
billows round the wide red welcoming doors
High piles the golden
straw; while from within, |
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Where
plods the team amid the chaffy din,
The loud pulsation of the thresher soars,
Persistent as if earth
could not let her cease
This happy proclamation
of her peace. |
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