Consider the poems."The Corn Harvest" by William Carlos WilliamsAn excerpt from "After Apple Picking" by Robert FrostSummer !the painting is organizedabout a youngreaper enjoying hisnoonday restcompletelyrelaxedfrom his morning laborssprawledin fact sleepingunbuttonedon his backthe womenhave brought him hislunchperhapsa spot of winethey gather gossipingunder a treewhose shadecarelesslyhe does not share theresting center of their workaday world.My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a treeToward heaven still.And there's a barrel that I didn't fillBeside it, and there may be two or threeApples I didn't pick upon some bough.But I am done with apple-picking now.Essence of winter sleep is on the night,The scent of apples; I am drowsing off.I cannot shake the shimmer from my sightI got from looking through a pane of glassI skimmed this morning from the water-trough,And held against the world of hoary grass.It melted, and I let it fall and break.But I was wellUpon my way to sleep before it fell,And I could tellWhat form my dreaming was about to take. Magnified apples appear and reappear, Stem end and blossom end,And every fleck of russet showing clear.