Explore "Aftermath" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
When the summer fields are mown, / When the birds are fledged and flown, / And the dry leaves strew the path; / With the falling of the snow, / With the cawing of the crow, / Once again the fields we mow / And gather in the aftermath.
Not the sweet, new grass with flowers / Is this harvesting of ours; / Not the upland clover bloom; / But the rowen mired with weeds, / Tangled tufts from marsh and meads, / Where the poppy drops its seeds / In the silence and the gloom.