Explore "After Harvest" by Francis Sherman on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
O Earth, O Mother, thou hast earned our praise!
The long year through thou hast been good to us.
Forgive us were we ever mutinous / Or unbelieving in thy strange, sure ways.
Sometimes, alas, we watched with wild amaze / Thy passing, for thou wert imperious / Indeed; and our estate seemed perilous, / And we as grass the wind unseeing sways.
Then, we were blind: the least among us sees, / Now, in each well-stripped vine and barren field, / Each garden that is fast a-perishing, / The promise April surely had revealed / Had we had grace to bend our stubborn knees / Who seek thee now with humble thanksgiving.