Sun-Tanned men and women, toiling there together; <br />Seven I count in all, in yon field of wheat, <br />Where the rich ripe ears in the harvest weather <br />Glow an orange gold through the sweltering heat. <br /> <br />Busy life is still, sunk in brooding leisure: <br />Birds have hushed their singing in the hushed tree tops; <br />Not a single cloud mars the flawless azure; <br />Not a shadow moves o'er the moveless crops; <br /> <br />In the grassy shallows, that no breath is creasing, <br />Chestnut-coloured cows in the rushes dank <br />Stand like cows of bronze, save when they flick the teasing <br />Flies with switch of tail from each quivering flank. <br /> <br />Nature takes a rest-even her bees are sleeping, <br />And the silent wood seems a church that's shut; <br />But these human creatures cease not from their reaping <br />While the corn stands high, waiting to be cut.<br /><br />Mathilde Blind<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/reapers-2/
