Behind them lay the gleaming rows,
    Like those long clouds the sunset shows
    On amber meadows of repose: 
    But like a wind the binders bright
    Soon followed in their mirthful might,
    And swept them into sheaves of light.

    Doubling the splendor of the plain,
    There rolled the great celestial wain
    To gather in the fallen grain: 
    Its frame was built of golden bars,
    Its glowing wheels were lit with stars,
    The royal Harvest’s car of cars.

    The snowy yoke that drew the load
    On gleaming hoofs of silver trode,
    And music was its only goad: 
    To no command of word or beck
    It moved, and felt no other check
    Than one white arm laid on the neck,—­

    The neck whose light was overwound
    With bells of lilies, ringing round
    Their odors till the air was drowned: 
    The starry foreheads meekly borne,
    With garlands looped from horn to horn,
    Shone like the many-colored morn.

    The field was cleared.  Home went the bands,
    Like children linking happy hands
    While singing through their father’s lands;
    Or, arms about each other thrown,
    With amber tresses backward blown,
    They moved as they were Music’s own.

    The vision brightening more and more,
    He saw the garner’s glowing door,
    And sheaves, like sunshine, strew the floor,—­
    The floor was jasper,—­golden flails,
    Swift sailing as a whirlwind sails,
    Throbbed mellow music down the vales.

    He saw the mansion,—­all repose,—­
    Great corridors and porticos
    Propped with the columns’ shining rows;
    And these—­for beauty was the rule—­
    The polished pavements, hard and cool,
    Redoubled, like a crystal pool.

    And there the odorous feast was spread: 
    The fruity fragrance widely shed
    Seemed to the floating music wed. 
    Seven angels, like the Pleiad Seven,
    Their lips to silver clarions given,
    Blew welcome round the walls of heaven.

    In skyey garments, silky thin,
    The glad retainers floated in,—­
    A thousand forms, and yet no din: 
    And from the visage of the Lord,
    Like splendor from the Orient poured,
    A smile illumined all the board.

    Far flew the music’s circling sound,
    Then floated back with soft rebound,
    To join, not mar, the converse round,—­
    Sweet notes that melting still increased,
    Such as ne’er cheered the bridal feast
    Of king in the enchanted East.

    Did any great door ope or close,
    It seemed the birth-time of repose,—­
    The faint sound died where it arose;
    And they who passed from door to door,
    Their soft feet on the polished floor
    Met their soft shadows,—­nothing more.