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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=364059" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Youth Mowing</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=364059" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">There are four men mowing down by the Isar; <br> I can hear the swish of the scythe-strokes, four <br> Sharp breaths taken: yea, and I <br> Am sorry for what's in store. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=364059" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"> The first man out of the four that's mowing <br> Is mine, I claim him once and for all; <br> Though it's sorry I am, on his young feet, knowing <br> None of the trouble he's led to stall. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=364059" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"> As he sees me bringing the dinner, he lifts <br> His head as proud as a deer that looks <br> Shoulder-deep out of the corn; and wipes <br> His scythe-blade bright, unhooks </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=364059" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"> The scythe-stone and over the stubble to me. <br> Lad, thou hast gotten a child in me, <br> Laddie, a man thou'lt ha'e to be, <br> Yea, though I'm sorry for thee.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=David+Herbert+Lawrence">David Herbert Lawrence</a></strong></div>

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