The Scarecrow
Walter de la Mare 1873 (Charlton, London) – 1956 (Twickenham)
All winter through I bow my head
beneath the driving rain;
the North Wind powders me with snow
and blows me black again;
at midnight 'neath a maze of stars
I flame with glittering rime,
and stand above the stubble, stiff
as mail at morning-prime.
But when that child called Spring, and all
his host of children come,
scattering their buds and dew upon
these acres of my home,
some rapture in my rags awakes;
I lift void eyes and scan
the sky for crows, those ravening foes,
of my strange master, Man.
I watch him striding lank behind
his clashing team, and know
soon will the wheat swish body high
where once lay a sterile snow;
soon I shall gaze across a sea
of sun-begotten grain,
which my unflinching watch hath sealed
for harvest once again.
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on April 18, 2023
- 41 sec read
- 501 Views
Quick analysis:
Scheme | ABCDEFGFHFIFEJKJLCMCNBOD |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 730 |
Words | 139 |
Stanzas | 1 |
Stanza Lengths | 24 |
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"The Scarecrow" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 17 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/38326/the-scarecrow>.
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