No More Learning

_

"Here was a corn field; reapers in a row,
Each with a sharp-tooth'd sickle in his hand,
Work'd busily, and, as the harvest fell,
Others were ready still to bind the sheaves:
Yoked to a wain that bore the corn away
The steers were moving; sturdy           here
The plough were drawing, and the furrow'd glebe
Was black behind them, while with goading wand
The active youths impell'd them.