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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=539883" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The End of the Furrow</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=539883" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">When we come to the end of the furrow,<br> When our last day's work is done, <br> We will drink of the long red shaft of light<br> That slants from the westering sun.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=539883" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"> We will turn from the field of our labour, <br> From the warm earth glad and brown, <br> And wend our feet up that village street, <br> And with our folk lie down.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=539883" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"> Yea, after the long toil, surcease, <br> Rest to the hearts that roam, <br> When we join in the mystic silence of eve<br> The glad procession home.</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=William+Wilfred+Campbell">William Wilfred Campbell</a></strong></div>

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