WISDOM AND WATER.
FIELDS are green in the early light,
When Morning treads on the skirts of Night
Fields are gray when the sun's gone west,
Like a clerk from the City in search of rest.
"Flesh," they tell us, "is only grass
And that is the reason it comes to pass
That mortals change in a life's long day
From the young and green to the old and gray.
Not long since—as it seems to me—