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ERNEST K. CHALLENGER
Corporal, R.E.
The Harvest
SHADOWLESS lies the land
Under the sun,
Only the poplars stand
With moveless boughs in the heat
That broods o'er the blackened wheat
And the ground so hardly won.
No other tree in the waste.
They only stand
Where the straight white road is traced
Athwart the land.
And ever under the sky
Do the slow-winged birds go by—
The slow black birds of prey
That wait but the close of day
For the night to bring them food.
The curse of the heat is here,
And the curse of blood.
Cold-lipped, and with eyes of fear,
'Neath the sun's flood
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