HARVEST 



ORN grows at the cliff edge, and the 

 o"olden vanp-uard of the harvest comes 



o o 



close to the top of great precipices and 

 nods at the sea. Only a footpath separ- 

 ates these fields from the slopes and escarpments. 

 Sometimes the land falls sheer to the green water ; 

 sometimes it descends in broken steps, where the 

 samphire flourishes and the thrift's green cushions 

 cling ; sometimes it breaks away more gradually, and 

 upon its scorched and weather-worn face many things 

 grow and pass through their brief visible phases until 

 they vanish again, and in the shape of root or seed 

 pursue their unseen life. 



The wind brushes the wheat as it brushes the sea 

 below, and undulations, marked by a sheen of pure 

 light, ripple over the harvest ; while as the water- 

 waves, sweeping onward, reveal the weeds below and 

 suffer the growth of the sea to come to light for a 

 moment in bunches and streamers before they are 

 again concealed, so here, with every touch of the sum- 

 mer wind, flame lovely weeds, and poppies splash 

 the harvest with scarlet, and gipsy-roses and corn- 

 flowers light the gleaming surfaces with lavender, or 

 touch them with deep blue. 



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