A Dead Harvest [In Kensington Gardens]
Along the graceless grass of town They rake the rows of red and brown, Dead leaves, unlike the rows of hay, Delicate, neither gold nor grey, Raked long ago and far away. A narrow silence in the park; Between the lights a narrow dark. One street rolls on the north, and one, Muffled, upon the south doth run. Amid the mist the work is done. A futile crop; for it the fire Smoulders, and, for a stack, a pyre. So go the town's lives on the breeze, Even as the sheddings of the trees; Bosom nor barn is filled with these.
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"Along the graceless grass of town..."
This evocative piece by Alice Christiana Gertrude Thompson Meynell, titled "A Dead Harvest [In Kensington Gardens]", represents a masterful exploration of classic. The lines capture a profound emotional resonance... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...