Harvest Song Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABCD BED FGH BID JKL DMBD FDE NOPI QEH BDBE PBRID| I am a reaper whose muscles set at sundown All my oats | A |
| are cradled | B |
| But I am too chilled and too fatigued to bind them | C |
| And I hunger | D |
| - | |
| I crack a grain between my teeth I do not taste it | B |
| I have been in the fields all day My throat is dry | E |
| I hunger | D |
| - | |
| My eyes are caked with dust of oatfields at harvest time | F |
| I am a blind man who stares across the hills seeking | G |
| stack'd fields of other harvesters | H |
| - | |
| It would be good to see them crook'd split and | B |
| iron ring'd handles of the scythes It would be | I |
| good to see them dust caked and blind I hunger | D |
| - | |
| Dusk is a strange fear'd sheath their blades are dull'd in | J |
| My throat is dry And should I call a cracked grain | K |
| like the oats echo | L |
| - | |
| I fear to call What should they hear me and offer | D |
| me their grain oats or wheat or corn I have | M |
| been in the fields all day I fear I could not taste | B |
| it I fear knowledge of my hunger | D |
| - | |
| My ears are caked with dust of oatfields at harvest time | F |
| I am a deaf man who strains to hear the calls of other | D |
| harvesters whose throats are also dry | E |
| - | |
| It would be good to hear their songs reapers of | N |
| the sweet stalk'd cane cutters of the corn | O |
| even though their throats cracked and the | P |
| strangeness of their voices deafened me | I |
| - | |
| I hunger My throat is dry Now that the sun has | Q |
| set and I am chilled I fear to call Eoho my | E |
| brothers | H |
| - | |
| I am a reaper Eoho All my oats are cradled | B |
| But I am too fatigued to bind them And I hunger | D |
| I crack a grain It has no taste to it | B |
| My throat is dry | E |
| - | |
| O my brothers I beat my palms still soft against the | P |
| stubble of my harvesting You beat your soft | B |
| palms too My pain is sweet Sweeter than | R |
| the oats or wheat or corn It will not bring me | I |
| knowledge of my hunger | D |
Jean Toomer
(1)
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