The scarecrow

Lightly the summer sun

gilded the harvest sheaves,

shifted and broke the light

upon the leaves.

I in that pleasant place

could not escape unease:

jumped, as a pheasant barked

among the trees.

I saw the scarecrow then,

mocking, so nearly me—

of man's poor ruined pride

no travesty.

?1970s

The Image of Man

Bland sunlight on the fields
polished the mangold leaves;
burnished the ancient gold
of new-stacked sheaves.

I in that pleasant place
could not escape unease:
jumped, as a pheasant barked
among the trees.

I saw the scarecrow then—
mocking, so nearly me:
of man's poor ruined pride
no travesty.

1954

NOTES

• Earlier and later versions of the poem with different titles:

See the note (13-i-2012) re The Scarecrow version from Anna Ritchie under the poem To Anna