The poem
STILL rests the heavy share on the dark soil: Upon the black mould thick the dew-damp lies: The horse waits patient: from his lowly toil The ploughboy to the morning lifts his eyes.
The unbudding hedgerows dark against day’s fires Glitter with gold-lit crystals: on the rim Over the unregarding city’s spires The lonely beauty shines alone for him.
And day by day the dawn or dark enfolds And feeds with beauty eyes that cannot see How in her womb the mighty mother moulds The infant spirit for eternity.