Riding over height and prairie, when the winter hours grew long,
Once I heard, a far and airy, something loose a wayside song.
Something sang:—"Wind and rain, dance on road and street.
Husked the corn. Ground the grain. Green the winter wheat,
Singing in the sleet!
Husked the corn, and ground the grain. Green the winter wheat!
Still are flock and field now, over hill and swale;
Corn in shock and bield now; cricket hushed and quail.
Bright alfalfa shut your eyes. Sweet tobacco sleep.
Under stormy-pluming skies, humming watch I keep,
Where the Youhiogheny flows, washing hoarse and gruff,
Where the Alleghany goes, over vale and bluff,
All around the frost-furred stables, sheltered fleece and horn,
Icy-splintered fence and gables, crackling hedge and thorn.
Overland, overland, field and pasture sail.
Down the wold the furrows fold, brown along the rail.
Many-toned through Minnesota, singing in the sleet,
Snowy-furled through cold Dakota, wings the winter wheat.
Fling it, sow it, East and West, while the frost rides forth!
Oats and barley sleep and rest! Swing it South and North!
Sow it where the swallows sing, cane and cotton sleep!
Strow it on the wild-duck's wing up the Northern steep!
Husked the corn. Ground the grain. Green the winter wheat!
"Spring-time days, summer ways, verdant leaf and dew
Thrill with countless-chorded praise. Winter songs are few.
Winter songs are few.
Not alone the storm-wind chills—not the stormwind most—
But the fog along the hills, creeping damp and frost.
Who shall like the earth and listen, tell the tune her life-time knows,
Now no dancing tree-tops glisten, now no crystal glory blows,
Through her lesser days, down her muted ways?
Let me strow and sing it now, where the wildducks cry,
Swift arise and answer now, full and proudly, 'I!
I, the winter wheat, singing in the sleet!
I will hear her. I will hearken; past the fogs and battling snows
Bring through hours that dim or darken, what the heart of winter knows;
Swinging through the Storm-wind's soaring, singing through the ice-cut gale,
Through the tempests thick, out-pouring over farthest height and swale,
Through her muted days, down her lesser ways,
East and West, North and South, deeply sing and call,
Overland and overland and in and through it all—
Every dreariness and blast, through it all and to the last!' "
As I rode through twilight's portal, while the winter hours grew long,
Once the voice of love immortal sang my soul a wayside song.
Let my day in dark be ended, let the fates at last defeat.
Down the roads of rapture splendid, I have heard the winter wheat.
Fling it, sow it, East and West, while the frost rides forth!
Oats and barley sleep and rest. Swing it South and North!
Sow it where the swallows sing, cane and cotton sleep!
Strow it on the wild-duck's wing up the Northern steep!
Husked the corn. Ground the grain. Green the winter wheat!