Richard Henry Horne

(1802-1884 / England)

The Plough, A Landscape In Berkshire

Poem by Richard Henry Horne

ABOVE yon sombre swell of land
   Thou see'st the dawn's grave orange hue,
With one pale streak like yellow sand,
   And over that a vein of blue.

The air is cold above the woods;
   All silent is the earth and sky,
Except with his own lonely moods
   The blackbird holds a colloquy.

Over the broad hill creeps a beam,
   Like hope that gilds a good man's brow;
And now ascends the nostril-stream
   Of stalwart horses come to plough.

Ye rigid Ploughmen, bear in mind
   Your labour is for future hours:
Advance--spare not--nor look behind--
   Plough deep and straight with all your powers!

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Read poems about / on: future, lonely, hope, sky, horse, power

Poem Submitted: Saturday, January 4, 2003