Isabel Ecclestone Mackay Poems >>
The Fields Of Even

O STILLER than the fields that lie
 Beneath the morning heaven,
And sweeter than day's gardens are
 The purple fields of even!

The vapor rises, silver-eyed,
 Leaving the dew-wet clover,
With groping, mist-white hands outspread
 To greet the sky, her lover.

Ripples the brook, a thread of sound
 Close-woven through the quiet,
Blending the jarring tones that day
 Would stir to noisy riot.

And all the glory seems so near
 A common man may win it--
When every earth-bound lakelet holds
 A million stars within it.

A common man, who in the day
 Lifts not his eyes above him,
Roaming the fields of even through
 May find a God to love him!