Torn and scattered around:
Far out afield they lie,
In the watery furrows die,
In grassy pools of the flood they sink and drown,
Green-golden, orange, vermilion, golden and brown,
The high year’s flaunting crown
Shattered and trampled down.
The day is done: the tired land looks for night:
She prays to the night to keep
In peace her nerves of delight: