An Unknown Poem

My Stubbled Fields Are Silent
My stubbled fields are silent -- sea gull, why do
you cry in pain?
Yea, I've sung a song of threshing time and the
golden swell,
Of the thresher who shall come,
Of the tiller-man gone out to plough,
Of the sun that strikes him, a bright crown of light.

Yea, I've begun a song of calm -- whose shadow
has darkness cast,
Fly sea gull, white of wing -- would you see my
brother at sea,
Descend to the mast and say: Harvest-time is
nearly done.

In my fields the dirt-clods cry,
And I shall sow in them once more --
This time, too, this time again, sad will be this
song of mine.

-- Author Unknown.