The heaves by Edwin Arlington Robinson

Edwin Arlington Robinson displays uncharacteristic romantic and metaphysical tendencies, while pondering on the passing of time.

The Sheaves

Where long the shadows of the wind had rolled, Green wheat was yielding to the change assigned; And as by some vast magic undivined The world was turning slowly into gold. Like nothing that was ever bought or sold It waited there, the body and the mind; And with a mighty meaning of a kind That tells the more the more it is not told.

So in a land where all days are not fair, Fair days went on till on another day A thousand golden sheaves were lying there, Shining and still, but not for long to stay – As if a thousand girls with golden hair Might rise from where they slept and go away.