Mowing<\/span><\/p>\n There was never a sound beside the wood but one,<\/span> Robert Frost<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Mowing There was never a sound beside the wood but one,And that was my long scythe whispering to the ground.What was it it whispered? I knew not well myself;Perhaps it was something about the heat of the sun,Something, perhaps, about the lack of sound\u2014And that was why it whispered and did not speak.It was no […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[11],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-80","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-litteratur"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/liebruk.se\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/80","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/liebruk.se\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/liebruk.se\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/liebruk.se\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/liebruk.se\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=80"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/liebruk.se\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/80\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/liebruk.se\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=80"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/liebruk.se\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=80"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/liebruk.se\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=80"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
And that was my long scythe whispering to the ground.<\/span>
What was it it whispered? I knew not well myself;<\/span>
Perhaps it was something about the heat of the sun,<\/span>
Something, perhaps, about the lack of sound\u2014<\/span>
And that was why it whispered and did not speak.<\/span>
It was no dream of the gift of idle hours,<\/span>
Or easy gold at the hand of fay or elf:<\/span>
Anything more than the truth would have seemed too weak<\/span>
To the earnest love that laid the swale in rows,<\/span>
Not without feeble-pointed spikes of flowers<\/span>
(Pale orchises), and scared a bright green snake.<\/span>
The fact is the sweetest dream that labor knows.<\/span>
My long scythe whispered and left the hay to make.<\/span><\/p>\n