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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=519175" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Potato Harvest</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=519175" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">A high bare field, brown from the plough, and borne <br> Aslant from sunset; amber wastes of sky <br> Washing the ridge; a clamour of crows that fly <br> In from the wide flats where the spent tides mourn <br> To yon their rocking roosts in pines wind-torn; <br> A line of grey snake-fence, that zigzags by <br> A pond and cattle; from the homestead nigh <br> The long deep summonings of the supper horn. <br> Black on the ridge, against that lonely flush, <br> A cart, and stoop-necked oxen; ranged beside <br> Some barrels; and the day-worn harvest-folk, <br> Here emptying their baskets, jar the hush <br> With hollow thunders. Down the dusk hillside <br> Lumbers the wain; and day fades out like smoke.</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=Sir+Charles+George+Douglas+Roberts">Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts</a></strong></div>

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