Generations (The Ploughed Field And The Fallow Field) - Poem by Ivor Gurney
The ploughed field and the fallow field
They sang a prudent song to me;
We bide all year and take our yield
Or barrenness as case may be.
What time or tide may bring to pass
Is nothing of our reckoning,
Power was before our making was
That had in brooding thought it's spring.
We bide our fate as best betides
What ends the tale may prove the first.
Stars know as truly of their guides
As we the truth of best or worst.
Comments about Generations (The Ploughed Field And The Fallow Field) by Ivor Gurney
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You