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The Harvest Moon
By Ted Hughes
The
flame-red moon, the harvest moon,
Rolls along the hills, gently
bouncing,
A vast balloon,
Till it takes off, and sinks
upward
To lie on the bottom of the sky,
like a gold doubloon.
The harvest moon has come,
Booming softly through heaven,
like a bassoon.
And the earth replies all night,
like a deep drum.
So
people can't sleep,
So
they go out where elms and oak trees keep
A kneeling vigil, in a religious
hush.
The harvest moon has come!
And
all the moonlit cows and all the sheep
Stare up at her petrified, while she
swells
Filling heaven, as if red hot, and
sailing
Closer and closer like the end of
the world.
Till the gold fields of stiff wheat
Cry
`We are ripe, reap us!' and the rivers
Sweat from the melting
hills.
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