The breeze has come at last. The day was long;
And in the lustrous air the dark bats fly;
And Hark! It is the reapers passing by,
I hear the burden of their peaceful song.
A voice intones; and swift the answering throng
Take up the theme and build the harmony;
The music swells and soars into the sky
And dies away intense, and clear and strong.
Now through the trees the stately shapes I see
Of women with the attributes of toil,
Calm in their sacerdotal majesty;
And backward, through the drifting mist of years,
I see the festal rites that blessed the soil,
As old as the first drop of mortal tears.