In fallow fields I long to lie--
A bookman lost in Arcady;
Or, steeped in grasses to the knees,
To follow fast where fancy flees,
Though musty lore and legend die.
I'd give my conquered world to sigh
An answer to the lullaby
Hot-hummed by honey-loaden bees
In fallow fields.
A-dream 'neath circumambient sky,
To list the crow's remoter cry
The while the love-begetting breeze
Flutters the leafy hearts of trees
And turns the heads of foolish rye
In fallow fields.
