Let us abandon then our gardens and go home br And sit in the sitting-room br Shall the larkspur blossom or the corn grow under this cloud? br Sour to the fruitful seed br Is the cold earth under this cloud, br Fostering quack and weed, we have marched upon but cannot br conquer; br We have bent the blades of our hoes against the stalks of them. br br Let us go home, and sit in the sitting room. br Not in our day br Shall the cloud go over and the sun rise as before, br Beneficent upon us br Out of the glittering bay, br And the warm winds be blown inward from the sea br Moving the blades of corn br With a peaceful sound. br br Forlorn, forlorn, br Stands the blue hay-rack by the empty mow. br And the petals drop to the ground, br Leaving the tree unfruited. br The sun that warmed our stooping backs and withered the weed br uprooted— br We shall not feel it again. br We shall die in darkness, and be buried in the rain. br br What from the splendid dead br We have inherited — br Furrows sweet to the grain, and the weed subdued — br See now the slug and the mildew plunder. br Evil does overwhelm br The larkspur and the corn; br We have seen them go under. br br Let us sit here, sit still, br Here in the sitting-room until we die; br At the step of Death on the walk, rise and go; br Leaving to our children's children the beautiful doorway, br And this elm, br And a blighted earth to till br With a broken hoe.br br Edna St.