Along the uplands waves the grain
In golden billows, and below
Upon a level stretch of plain
The whitened fields of buckwheat grow.
The leafy boughs with apples bend,
The green is on the chestnut-burs,
The locust-buds their perfume send,
The breeze now scarce a ripple stirs
Above the surface of the lake,
And in the silence*of the brake,
O'ergrown with ferns, the cat-bird screams,
The brown thrush and the robin sing,
The air with light is half ablaze,
And underneath the dazzling beams
Of the noontide's exultant rays.
The bluebird spreads his azure wing.
Down where the dusty roads divide,
The little, old red schoolhouse stands,
And here upon the shady side,
The children group in happy bands,
Let loose at noon. The open door,
The battered porch, the well-worn floor,
The row of nails, on which a score
Of rimless hats are hung by day.
The grass is trodden by the feet
Of merry urchins at their play,
And heedless of the summer heat,
For life to them is very sweet,
The intermission glides away.
Oh gleesome hearts, in after years
These scenes to you will bring no tears
When life is not a holiday.
