The little cares that fretted me, I lost them yesterday,
Among the fields above the sea; among the winds at play;
Among the lowing of the herds, the rustling of the trees;
Among the singing of the birds, the humming of the bees.
The foolish fears of what might chance, I threw them all away
Among the clover-scented grass; among the new-mown hay,
Among the husking of the corn, where drowsy poppies nod,
Where ill thoughts die and good are born,
Out in the field with God.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
No comments:
Post a Comment