...: Or, on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers ; And sometimes...keep Steady thy laden head across a brook ; Or, by a cyder-press, with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours. Where are the songs...

...: Or, on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers ; And sometimes...gleaner thou dost keep Steady thy laden head across a hrook : Or, hy a cyder-press, with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings, hours hy hours. Where...

...; Or on a hnlf-rcap'd furrow sound asleep, Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers; And sometimes...keep Steady thy laden head across a brook ; Or by a cider-press, with patient look, Thou walchest the last oozings, hours by hours. Where are the songs...

...furrow sound asleep, Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all ¡ts twined flowers; And sometimes like a gleaner thou...keep Steady thy laden head across a brook ; Or by a cider-press, with patient look, Thou watchest the lost oozings, hours by hours. Where are the songs...

...; Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep, Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares e cider-press with patient look, Thou watchcst the last oozings, hours by hours. Where are the songs...

...Drowsed with the fume of poppies. while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers: Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?...hast thy music too — While barred clouds bloom the softlydying day, And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue. Few more perfect poems exist in the English...

...furrow sound asleep, Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and nil rt cider-press with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hour». Where are the songs...

...To bend with apples the moss'd cottage trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core. * * * * Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too ; White harr'd clouds bloom the soft dying day, And touch the stubble plains with rosy hue. Then, in...

...Or on a ir<1i ,iii -M furrow sound asleep, [hook Drowsed with the fume of poppies while thy Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers ; And sometimes...keep Steady thy laden head across a brook ; Or by a cider-press, with patient look, Thou watches* the last opziugs hoars by hours. Where ore the songs...

...Or on a half reap'd furrow, sound asleep ! Drows'd with the fumes of poppies ; while thy hook Spares the next swath, and all its twined flowers ! And sometimes...keep Steady thy laden head, across a brook; Or by a cider-press, with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings, hours liy hours ! " Where are the songs...