OVERHEAD the leaf-song, on the upland slope;
Over that the azure, clean from base to cope;
Belle the mare beside me, drowsy from her lope.
Goldy-green the wheat-field, like a fluted wall
In the pleasant wind, with waves that rise and fall,
“Moving all together,” if it “move at all.”
Shakspere in my pocket, lest I feel alone,
Lest the brooding landscape take a sombre tone;
Good to have a poet to fall back upon!
But the vivid beauty makes the book absurd:
What beside the real world is the written word?
Keep the page till winter, when no thrush is heard!
Why read Hamlet here?-what’s Hecuba to me?
Let me read the grain-field; let me read the tree;
Let me read mine own heart, deep as I can see.
(Edward Rowland Sill)
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Based on Topics: World Poems, Nature Poems, Literature Poems, Books Poems, Winter Poems, Poets PoemsBased on Keywords: lope, hecuba, shakspere, wheat-field, grain-field