| George Herbert Clarke, ed. (1873–1953). A Treasury of War Poetry. 1917. |
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| 144. Harvest Moon |
| | | By Josephine Preston Peabody |
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| OVER the twilight field, | |
| Over the glimmering field | |
| And bleeding furrows, with their sodden yield | |
| Of sheaves that still did writhe, | |
| After the scythe; | 5 |
| The teeming field, and darkly overstrewn | |
| With all the garnered fullness of that noon— | |
| Two looked upon each other. | |
| One was a Woman, men had called their mother: | |
| And one the Harvest Moon. | 10 |
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| And one the Harvest Moon | |
| Who stood, who gazed | |
| On those unquiet gleanings, where they bled; | |
| Till the lone Woman said: | |
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| “But we were crazed … | 15 |
| We should laugh now together, I and you; | |
| We two. | |
| You, for your ever dreaming it was worth | |
| A star’s while to look on, and light the earth; | |
| And I, for ever telling to my mind | 20 |
| Glory it was and gladness, to give birth | |
| To human kind. | |
| I gave the breath,—and thought it not amiss, | |
| I gave the breath to men, | |
| For men to slay again; | 25 |
| Lording it over anguish, all to give | |
| My life, that men might live, | |
| For this. | |
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| “You will be laughing now, remembering | |
| We called you once Dead World, and barren thing. | 30 |
| Yes, so we called you then, | |
| You, far more wise | |
| Than to give life to men.” | |
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| Over the field that there | |
| Gave back the skies | 35 |
| A scattered upward stare | |
| From sightless eyes, | |
| The furrowed field that lay | |
| Striving awhile, through many a bleeding dune | |
| Of throbbing clay,—but dumb and quiet soon, | 40 |
| She looked; and went her way, | |
| The Harvest Moon. | |
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