The earth grows white with harvest; all day long <br /> The sickles gleam, until the darkness weaves <br />Her web of silence o'er the thankful song <br /> Of reapers bringing home the golden sheaves. <br /> <br />The wave tops whiten on the sea fields drear, <br /> And men go forth at haggard dawn to reap; <br />But ever 'mid the gleaners' song we hear <br /> The half-hushed sobbing of the hearts that weep.<br /><br />John McCrae<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-harvest-of-the-sea/
