Sheep Pastures

With burnt-oak, looking out from its ledges, Over the pasture where shadows creep, I sat a while with thoughts like hedges, Where the black sheep fold in a dreamless sleep.

The sun lay low on the long green hill, Which swells in glory of waves and lines; Till the twilight gathered the world to still, And slowly deepened where the river shines.

Oh, dreaming sheep with the stars a-gleaming— Can your minds reach beyond where the shadows leap? Though your fortunes sleep, and your thoughts be dreaming, How rich be the pastures you wander in, deep!

• Wilfrid Wilson Gibson