Underneath their eider-robe
Russet swede and golden globe,
Feathered carrot, burrowing deep,
Steadfast wait in charmed sleep;
Treasure-houses wherein lie,
Locked by angels' alchemy,
Milk and hair, and blood, and bone,
Children of the barren stone;
Children of the flaming Air,
With his blue eye keen and bare,
Spirit-peopled smiling down
On frozen field and toiling town-
Toiling town that will not heed
God His voice for rage and greed;
Frozen fields that surpliced lie,
Gazing patient at the sky;
Like some marble carven nun,
With folded hands when work is done,
Who mute upon her tomb doth pray,
Till the resurrection day.
Eversley, 1845.
The Poetry Of A Root Crop
Charles Kingsley
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Poem topics: god, greed, hair, sky, sleep, work, pray, voice, blue, field, deep, wait, milk, spirit, treasure, bone, golden, stone, Valentine's Day, resurrection, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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