In the Fields

There’s nothing that sings like your song, O grass! Just to hear your soft whispers in the breeze; When the summer bids the flowers to pass, You cloak the fields in velvet, sweet as these.

The hum of bees, the murmur of the stream, Fold into me a peace I know is real; I see the sun on each bright petal beam, And feel the soft caress of Nature’s zeal.

• Isabella Valancy Crawford