Sonnet by Elise Justine Bayard Cutting

Sprung from the arid rock devoid of soil,
In vig’rous life I saw one blade of wheat,
Bearing its precious grain, full-lobed and sweet,
Remote from eye of him whose lusty toil
In other harvest recompense hath found;
And it seemed good to me that labour should
Beyond its aim or asking thus abound,
While reaping to itself its purchased food:
So, too, from him, who the prolific thought
Sows in the cultured field of intellect,
A wandering breath its course may intersect,
And bear an embryo with rich promise fraught
Within some barren soul to germinate,
And fill with fruitful life what else were desolate.

From: http://www.lehigh.edu/~dek7/SSAWW/writ19CenBayar.htm

Date: c1840

By: Elise Justine Bayard Cutting (1823-1853)