Page:All quiet along the Potomac and other poems.djvu/298

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When the sacks of snow into biscuits blow,

There is time for their rising given; For the mystic spell modern grocers sell

Was unknown in the days of leaven.


Quick work, sir ! That biscuit, as light as a feather, Was only a wheat-ear five minutes ago ! *

A match against time worth any man s watching, From golden wheat growing to edible snow.

Twas fair, sir, to see, in the beautiful morning, The grain bow itself to a mastering will ;

Watch the wheels of the reaper go over the stubble ; Hear the swish of the knife in the summer air still.

Quick hands on the line caught the new-fallen treasure,

Swiftly bore it away to the thresher s sure stroke, Till each little grain shook itself, full of wonder

At the pitiful loss of its golden-hued cloak.

Then away to the mill and the miller in waiting The horse seemed to fly with his load on his back ;

His hoof-beats were taps on the bridge underneath

him, The hand on the bridle no moment felt slack.

A whir of the mill ; less than two minutes counted ; Back again like the wind to the wide kitchen-door,

  • The feat of a Carrollton (Mo.) farmer s family.

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