Earth travails, <br />Like a woman come to her time. <br /> <br />The swaying corn-haulms <br />In the heavy places of the field <br />Cry to be gathered. <br />Apples redden, and drop from their rods. <br />Out of their sheath of prickly leaves <br />The marrows creep, fat and white. <br />The blue pallor of ripeness <br />Comes on the fruit of the vine-branch. <br />Fecund and still fecund <br />After aeons of bearing: <br />Not old, not dry, not wearied out; <br />But fresh as when the unseen Right Hand <br />First moved on Bri, <br />And the candle of day was set, <br />And dew fell from the stars' feet, <br />And cloths of greenness covered thee. <br /> <br />Let me kiss thy breasts: <br />I am thy son and lover. <br /> <br />Womb-fellow am I of the sunburnt oat, <br />Friendly gossip of the mearings; <br />Womb-fellow of the dark and sweet-scented apple; <br />Womb-fellow of the gourd and of the grape: <br />Like begotten, like born. <br /> <br />And yet without a lover's knowledge <br />Of thy secrets <br />I would walk the ridges of the hills, <br />Kindless and desolate. <br /> <br />What were the storm-driven moon to me, <br />Seed of another father? <br />What the overflowing <br />Of the well of dawn? <br />What the hollow, <br />Red with rowan fire? <br />What the king-fern? <br />What the belled heath? <br />What the drum of grouse's wing, <br />Or glint of spar, <br />Caught from the pit <br />Of a deserted quarry? <br /> <br />Let me kiss thy breasts: <br />I am thy son and lover.<br /><br />Joseph Campbell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/at-harvest/
