Classic Poem

1

Barn door fowls have gone to bed
Though the sun is two yards high
Ere it reach the top lands head
That takes days lamp from out the sky
Now the horses round the cribs
Brouzes o'er the coarser hay
While the ploughmen comb their ribs
'Till the evening wanes to grey.

2

Then the boy with speach all hoarse
Mocking the echo in the wood
Brings the cows from their green close
That in the hovel chew their cud
Now the owl on wheaten wing
And white hood scowling o'er his eyes
Jerking with a sudden spring
Through three-cornered barn hole flies.

3

The sun is sinking low and red
A coal turned dim from gazing
Among the oak-trees goes to bed
And sets the woods a blazing
The dewy leaves will quickly drop
And daylight close his eye
And labours rustic sounds will stop
'Neath evenings quiet sky.