Author: Algernon Charles Swinburne

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    Put in the sickles and reap;
    For the morning of harvest is red,
    And the long large ranks of the corn
    Coloured and clothed as the morn
    Stand thick in the fields and deep
    For them that faint to be fed.
    Let all that hunger and weep
    Come hither, and who would have bread
    Put in the sickles and reap.

    Coloured and clothed as the morn,
    The grain grows ruddier than gold,
    And the good strong sun is alight
    In the mists of the day-dawn white,
    And the crescent, a faint sharp horn,
    In the fear of his face turns cold
    As the snakes of the night-time that creep
    From the flag of our faith unrolled.
    Put in the sickles and reap.

    In the mists of the day-dawn white
    That roll round the morning star,
    The large flame lightens and grows
    Till the red-gold harvest-rows,
    Full-grown, are full of the light
    As the spirits of strong men are,
    Crying, Who shall slumber or sleep?
    Who put back morning or mar?
    Put in the sickles and reap.

    Till the red-gold harvest-rows
    For miles through shudder and shine
    In the winds breath, fed with the sun,
    A thousand spear-heads as one
    Bowed as for battle to close
    Line in rank against line
    With place and station to keep
    Till all mens hands at a sign
    Put in the sickles and reap.

    A thousand spear-heads as one
    Wave as with swing of the sea
    When the mid tide sways at its height;
    For the hour is for harvest or fight
    In face of the just calm sun,
    As the signal in season may be
    And the lot in the helm may leap
    When chance shall shake it; but ye,
    Put in the sickles and reap.

    For the hour is for harvest or fight
    To clothe with raiment of red;
    O men sore stricken of hours,
    Lo, this one, is not it ours
    To glean, to gather, to smite?
    Let none make risk of his head
    Within reach of the clean scythe-sweep,
    When the people that lay as the dead
    Put in the sickles and reap.

    Lo, this one, is not it ours,
    Now the ruins of dead things rattle
    As dead mens bones in the pit,
    Now the kings wax lean as they sit
    Girt round with memories of powers,
    With musters counted as cattle
    And armies folded as sheep
    Till the red blind husbandman battle
    Put in the sickles and reap?

    Now the kings wax lean as they sit,
    The people grow strong to stand;
    The men they trod on and spat,
    The dumb dread people that sat
    As corpses cast in a pit,
    Rise up with God at their hand,
    And thrones are hurled on a heap,
    And strong men, sons of the land,
    Put in the sickles and reap.

    The dumb dread people that sat
    All night without screen for the night,
    All day without food for the day,
    They shall give not their harvest away,
    They shall eat of its fruit and wax fat:
    They shall see the desire of their sight,
    Though the ways of the seasons be steep,
    They shall climb with face to the light,
    Put in the sickles and reap.

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Type of Poem: Ballad

Date Written:

Date Published:

Language: English

Keywords: Public Domain

Source: Public Domain Collection

Publisher:

Rights/Permissions: Public Domain

Comments/Notes: The poem under consideration is a riveting exploration of the themes of labor, harvest, revolution, and regeneration. It adopts an exhortatory tone, calling for collective action and transformation, embodied in the consistent refrain, "Put in the sickles and reap." The structure maintains a rhythmic, almost chant-like quality, reinforcing this call to action.

The poetic portrait of the harvest is not just a description of agricultural labor but serves as a metaphor for social change and collective uprising. The images of the "red-gold harvest-rows" and "a thousand spear-heads as one" evoke both the bounty of harvest and the unity required in a revolution. Through this, the poet emphasizes the potential power of the common people, "the dumb dread people," when they rise together.

The poet's use of colors, primarily red and gold, also stands out. Red suggests the dawn of a new era, possibly through bloodshed, while gold represents the anticipated reward or prosperity. The morning star and the rising sun symbolize hope, a new beginning, and the impending change.

The poem also contains a critique of oppressive power structures, symbolized by the "kings" who "wax lean as they sit." The transition from rulers growing weak to the people rising strong implies a shift in power dynamics, reinforcing the theme of revolution.

In conclusion, this poem masterfully intertwines the mundane with the metaphorical, using vivid imagery and strong symbols to inspire and incite. It is a rallying call for those suffering under oppression, a hopeful anthem that promises a golden harvest after the struggle.