A Reed by the River/Through the Fields
THROUGH THE FIELDS
Come, my dear, we'll go a-wandering, a-wandering we'll go,While the sun upon the fields is lying red,The sky is like a dove-wing, the woods are black below,And the brier in a net of bloom is spread.
Has heart of day an odor like the dewy evening airThat blows across the clover and the thorn?And is there yet a sound, that for silence can compareWith the rustle, rustle, rustle of the corn?
Shall ever glow a memory or ever gleam a star,Though myriads arise for you and me,That shall welcome us and beckon us and follow us afar,Like the shining of yon star above the tree?Come, my dear,—we'll go a-wandering adown the dawning years;Beyond this eve there's many a waiting morn,—But through the din the tumult, the broken dream, the fears,We shall hear the rustle, rustle of the corn;—The soft and scented twilight, the hush, too deep for tears,In the rustle, rustle, rustle of the corn.