Oh, 'tis sweet, when fields are ringing
With the merry cricket's singing,
Oft to mark with curious eye
If the vine-tree's time be nigh:
Here is now the fruit whose birth
Cost a throe to Mother Earth.
Sweet it is, too, to be telling,
How the luscious figs are swelling;
Then to riot without measure
In the rich, nectareous treasure,
While our grateful voices chime,--
Happy season! blessed time.
The Harvest
Aristophanes
(1)
Poem topics: birth, happy, mother, tree, earth, fruit, Season, treasure, merry, measure, grateful, time, sweet, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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