THE SEA-HARVEST.
On the great sea-marsh where the eddies stray,
The mowers strike ere yet the dew is fled.
The salt-grass falls before their heavy tread,
Filling with odorous breath the whole green way.
On the tide's back, now with the broadened day,
Like a mild beast of burden slowly led,
The floating grass is meshed and gatherèd;
A great tide-harvest of salt-smelling hay.
Where herons stalk, and the shy mallard glides
In stillest haunts, is the man-worker seen;
Even the sea must garner for his good,
Till high and dark above the marsh and tides
Stand the great hay-towers, as they loom and lean,
Like turrets grim, to mark the solitude.
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