Rondeau—Seed-Time

THE field is wide, broadcast the seed Of human hope and human need, As, to and fro, from end to end, The furrows of the world ye wend Its legioned hungry mouths to feed.

Though lowering o’er the landscape bend The brows of winter, rains descend, And tempest sowings whirlwinds breed, The field is wide.

Sowing, ye shall reap indeed Golden grain, or grisly weed, Or dragon’s teeth, that in the end, Perchance, in golden ears depend, Sunward, as our path doth lead, The field is wide.