The Gleaners.
R
Robert Crawford
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They sang, that were the young world's gleaners,
Like birds on a bough,
Reaping the first-fruits of love's sowing;
The reapers now
Are sad, as they to harvest going
Voice love's vow.
So much of thought has made us weary,
We cannot sing
Now only of the heart's sweet meaning
In everything,
As they who in the young world gleaning
Went caroling.
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