The Poetry of a Root Crop.
Underneath their eider-robe1
Russet swede and golden globe,2
Feathered carrot, burrowing deep,3
Steadfast wait in charmèd sleep ;4
Treasure-houses wherein lie,5
Locked by angels’ alchemy,6
Milk and hair, and blood, and bone,7
Children of the barren stone ;8
Children of the flaming Air,9
With his blue eye keen and bare,10
Spirit-peopled, smiling down11
On frozen field and boiling town—12
Boiling town that will not heed13
God His voice for rage and greed ;14
Frozen fields that surpliced lie,15
Gazing patient at the sky ;16
Like some marble carven nun,17
With folded hands when work is done,18
Who mute upon her tomb doth pray,19
Till the resurrection day.20