Harvest
They are mowing wheat Through the heavy days; Through the silent heat They are mowing wheat; Flat fields retreat
Into shrouding haze; They are mowing wheat Through the heavy days.
Frances Cornford
They are mowing wheat Through the heavy days; Through the silent heat They are mowing wheat; Flat fields retreat
Into shrouding haze; They are mowing wheat Through the heavy days.
Frances Cornford’s “Harvest” gives a brief, almost dreamlike glimpse of farm labour in summer. The speaker watches or imagines workers mowing wheat day after day, under heat so intense it seems to hush everything.
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