Charles Tennyson Turner (Чарльз Теннисон Тернер)
The Steam Threshing-Machine With the Straw Carrier
Flush with the pond the lurid furnace burned At eve, while smoke and vapour filled the yard; The gloomy winter sky was dimly starred, The fly-wheel with a mellow murmur turned; While, ever rising on its mystic stair In the dim light, from secret chambers borne, The straw of harvest, severed from the corn, Climbed, and fell over, in the murky air. I thought of mind and matter, will and law, And then of him*, who set his stately seal Of Roman words on all the forms he saw Of old-world hubandry: I could but feel With what a rich precision he would draw The endless ladder, and the booming wheel! * Virgil in his Georgics
Charles Tennyson Turner’s other poems:
892