Page:Thirty poems (IA thirtypoems00bryarich).pdf/71

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THE SONG OF THE SOWER.
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  For even now I seemTo hear a sound that lightly ringsFrom murmuring harp and viol's strings,  s in a summer dream.The welcome of the wedding guest, The bridegrooom's look of bashful pride, The faint smile of the pallid bride,And bridemaid's blush at matron's jest,And dance and song and generous dowerAre in the shining grains we shower.VII.Scatter the wheat for shipwrecked men,Who, hunger-worn, rejoice again In the sweet safety of the shore,And wanderers, lost in woodlands drear,Whose pulses bound with joy to hear The herd's light bell ones more. Freely the golden spray be shedFor him whose heart, when night comes downOn the close alleys of the town, Is faint for lack of bread.
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