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Poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Aftermath 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 rowan mixed with weeds, Tangled tufts from marsh and meads, Where the poppy drops its seeds In the silence and the gloom. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's other poems: Poems of the other poets with the same name: 1450 Views |
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