Out in the Farmyard

Where flowers dance in the fields,
Hoofbeats whisper past corn
And the high winds come bending down;
A warm sun takes the place of the bees,
With the fluttering mist and the wigs of clover
That the maiden’s heart would pluck to find,
Beneath the boughs where her head bows low;
Away
Out on the fields, the tunes of a fiddler blown,
Are sweet above the lady’s tears!

• Lesbia Harford