WHENE'ER I take my walks abroad And see the fields outspread, My heart leaps up to thank that God Who such sweet things has made. But dear as are the fields I know, And like friends' faces kind, Some, more than others, when I go, I carry in my mind. Some, more than others, beckon me From out the dusty town, With "Come and lie beneath a tree And fling your burthen down." Some, more than others, make a breast Where my tired thoughts may lean, With "Turn again and take your rest All in a shadow green." And why a certain field should prove, When far away I range, More than another in my love, I find it passing strange. For each displays the velvet floor, And each the grove ashine; And some have purling streams, and more The quietly breathing kine. I love them all; yet when I leave And in the sad town mourn, Some haunt me at the morn and eve, And call me to return. And each has many birds and flowers, Each spreads a golden sheet When the sweet Summer's in the bowers And Cuckoo's calling sweet. And one I never hear at all Wherever I may roam; While one at dawn and evenfall Calls me and calls me home. Dear are the fields; and yet 'tis plain One has one's dearest friends Among the fields as among men; And there the wonder ends. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LACEDEMONIAN INSTRUCTION by WILLIAM BLAKE SACRIFICE by RALPH WALDO EMERSON BILL AND JOE by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES TO A LOCOMOTIVE IN WINTER by WALT WHITMAN AFTER THE SOIREE by F. R. D. B. |