Poems (Hardy)/In the cornfield
IN THE CORN-FIELD
ENCOMPASSED close by ranks of bladed corn, Where shade and shine their harmless rapiers cross, Where dallying airs the yellow cornsilk toss,Upon the earth at rest and unforlornThough all alone, I lie in tranquil scorn Of nearer care or far to-morrow's loss; And if above my head 'tis silken flossThat floats, or cloud, I'll think to-morrow morn.For, oh, it is enough to lapse into a dream And let the wearied heart its pulsing slow; Enough to feel the folding air at playOn brow and cheek, and watch the stream Of downward sloping leaves, and come and go In thought with them, as forth and back they sway.