The Scarecrow

Listen to:

The Scarecrow (1:14)

by Walter de la Mare 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

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

  Those acres of my home,

Some rapture in my rags awakes;

  I lift void eyes and scan

The skies 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 sterile snow;

Soon shall I gaze across a sea

  Of sun-begotten grain,

Which my unflinching watch hath sealed

  For harvest once again.