Among the Millet

by Archibald Lampman



Beyond the dusky corn-fields, toward the west,
    Dotted with farms, beyond the shallow stream,
    Through drifts of elm with quiet peep and gleam,
Curved white and slender as a lady's wrist,
Faint and far off out of the autumn mist,
    Even as a pointed jewel softly set
    In clouds of colour warmer, deeper yet,
Crimson and gold and rose and amethyst,
Toward dayset, where the journeying sun grown old
Hangs lowly westward darker now than gold,
With the soft sun-touch of the yellowing hours
    Made lovelier, I see with dreaming eyes,
    Even as a dream out of a dream, arise
The bell-tongued city with its glorious towers.