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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=409352" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Aftermath</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=409352" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">When the summer fields are mown, <br> When the birds are fledged and flown, <br> And the dry leaves strew the path; <br> With the falling of the snow, <br> With the cawing of the crow, <br> Once again the fields we mow <br> And gather in the aftermath. <br> Not the sweet, new grass with flowers <br> Is this harvesting of ours; <br> Not the upland clover bloom; <br> But the rowen mixed with weeds, <br> Tangled tufts from marsh and meads, <br> Where the poppy drops its seeds <br> In the silence and the gloom.</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=Henry+Wadsworth+Longfellow">Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</a></strong></div>

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