Explore "The Harvest Moon" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
It is the Harvest Moon! On gilded vanes / And roofs of villages, on woodland crests / And their aerial neighborhoods of nests / Deserted, on the curtained window-panes / Of rooms where children sleep, on country lanes / And harvest-fields, its mystic splendor rests! / Gone are the birds that were our summer guests, / With the last sheaves return the laboring wains! / All things are symbols: the external shows / Of Nature have their image in the mind, / As flowers and fruits and falling of the leaves; / The song-birds leave us at the summer's close, / Only the empty nests are left behind, / And pipings of the quail among the sheaves.