A Field of Stubble, lying sere
Beneath the second Sun—
Its Toils to Brindled People thrust—
Its Triumphs—to the Bin—
Accosted by a timid Bird
Irresolute of Alms—
Is often seen—but seldom felt,
On our New England Farms—
A Field of Stubble, lying sere
Summary
"A Field of Stubble, lying sere" is a short poem that pictures a harvested New England field under a second sun, its crop already gathered and its stubble left bare. Emily Dickinson sets the labor of the farm hands beside the quiet fate of their triumphs, then lets a timid, hesitant bird approach the field for scraps. Spare and image-driven, the poem rewards slow reading and leaves you thinking about what is seen but seldom felt.
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