Page:The writings in prose and verse of Rudyard Kipling (IA cu31924057346631).pdf/61



were three daughters long ago,
 * In a lonely house that faced the sea;

They sent their father forth to plough
 * The narrow meadow that skirts the sea.

The autumn fogs are drifting by,
 * The old man's wits are dull and numb;

He has opened the barn where the young colts lie
 * Safe from the biting frosts to come.

He has taken the plough-gear and harnessed three
 * Hot young bloods that no lash will bear;

The rain is falling&mdash;he cannot see
 * If young or old be harnessed there.

He is ploughing the meadow that skirts the sea&mdash;
 * Old hands a-quivering with the cold;

The furrows are running crookedly,
 * And the share is clogged with the clinging mould.

The crow and daw fly fast to seat
 * Their food, while afar the sea-gulls scream;

The rain has changed to a stinging sleet;
 * He is ploughing as one who ploughs in a dream.

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