When the reaper lays the sickle by,
And taketh down the flail:
When all we prized, and all we planned,
Is ripe and stored at last,
And Autumn looks across the land,
And ponders on the Past.
More verses by Alfred Austin
- Let Us Fly!
- An April Love
- Dedication To The Edition Of 1876 To H.J.A.
- Free
- When In The Long-Drawn Avenues Of Thought