The flame-red moon, the harvest moon, <br />Rolls along the hills, gently bouncing, <br />A vast balloon, <br />Till it takes off, and sinks upward <br />To lie on the bottom of the sky, like a gold doubloon. <br />The harvest moon has come, <br />Booming softly through heaven, like a bassoon. <br />And the earth replies all night, like a deep drum. <br /> <br />So people can't sleep, <br />So they go out where elms and oak trees keep <br />A kneeling vigil, in a religious hush. <br />The harvest moon has come! <br /> <br />And all the moonlit cows and all the sheep <br />Stare up at her petrified, while she swells <br />Filling heaven, as if red hot, and sailing <br />Closer and closer like the end of the world. <br /> <br />Till the gold fields of stiff wheat <br />Cry `We are ripe, reap us!' and the rivers <br />Sweat from the melting hills.<br /><br />Ted Hughes<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-harvest-moon/
