II

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?

      Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find

Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,

      Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;

Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,

      Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook

            Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:

And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep

      Steady thy laden head across a brook;

      Or by a cider-press, with patient look,

            Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.