The Rambling Sailor/In the Fields

​
IN THE FIELDS
LORD, when I look at lovely things which pass, Under old trees the shadows of young leavesDancing to please the wind along the grass, Or the gold stillness of the August sun on the August sheaves;Can I believe there is a heavenlier world than this? And if there isWill the strange heart of any everlasting thing Bring me these dreams that take my breath away?They come at evening with the home-flying rooks and the scent of hay, Over the fields. They come in Spring.


This article is issued from Wikisource. The text is available under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 unless otherwise noted. Additional terms may apply for the media files.