And the unfading fields are bright.
The stars are flowers about our feet,
And at my side Thou art the sweet
Perfumed, eternal Breath of May....
With a sob the pale-eyed day
Wakens at the Rother’s mouth,
And back to earthly fields I go,
And back to earthly toil, and slow
Hot days of the slow, drawling South,
Toiling to keep the fields alive,