THE SCARECROW
'All winter through I bow my head Beneath the driving rain; ; The North Wind powders me with snow And blows me back again; At midnight ’neath a maze of stars I flame with glittering rime. And stand, above the stubble, stiff As mail at morning-prime. But when that child, called Spring, and all His host of children, come. Scattering their buds and dew upon These acres of my home. Some rapture in my rags awakes; I lift void eye s and scan The skies for crows, those ravaging foes. Of my strange master man. I watch him striding lank behind Hi s clashing team, and know Soon will the wheat swish body high Where once lay sterile snow; Soon shall I gaze across a sea Of sun-begotten grain. Which my unflinching watch hath sealed For harvest once again. —Walter de la Mare, in “Selected Poems.”
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/HBTRIB19280526.2.82
Bibliographic details
Hawke's Bay Tribune, Volume XVIII, Issue 139, 26 May 1928, Page 9
Word Count
147THE SCARECROW Hawke's Bay Tribune, Volume XVIII, Issue 139, 26 May 1928, Page 9
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