THE HAY FIELD
WITH slender arms outstretching in the sunThe grass lies dead;The wind walks tenderly, and stirs not oneFrail, fallen head.Of baby creepings through the April dayWhere streamlets wend,Of childlike dancing on the breeze of May,This is the end.No more these tiny forms are bathed in dew,No more they reachTo hold with leaves that shade them from the blueA whispered speech.No more they part their arms, and wreathe them closeAgain to shieldSome love-full little nest—a dainty houseHid in a field.
WITH slender arms outstretching in the sunThe grass lies dead;The wind walks tenderly, and stirs not oneFrail, fallen head.Of baby creepings through the April dayWhere streamlets wend,Of childlike dancing on the breeze of May,This is the end.No more these tiny forms are bathed in dew,No more they reachTo hold with leaves that shade them from the blueA whispered speech.No more they part their arms, and wreathe them closeAgain to shieldSome love-full little nest—a dainty houseHid in a field.
WITH slender arms outstretching in the sunThe grass lies dead;The wind walks tenderly, and stirs not oneFrail, fallen head.
WITH slender arms outstretching in the sun
The grass lies dead;
The wind walks tenderly, and stirs not one
Frail, fallen head.
Of baby creepings through the April dayWhere streamlets wend,Of childlike dancing on the breeze of May,This is the end.
Of baby creepings through the April day
Where streamlets wend,
Of childlike dancing on the breeze of May,
This is the end.
No more these tiny forms are bathed in dew,No more they reachTo hold with leaves that shade them from the blueA whispered speech.
No more these tiny forms are bathed in dew,
No more they reach
To hold with leaves that shade them from the blue
A whispered speech.
No more they part their arms, and wreathe them closeAgain to shieldSome love-full little nest—a dainty houseHid in a field.
No more they part their arms, and wreathe them close
Again to shield
Some love-full little nest—a dainty house
Hid in a field.