Among the Millet

by Archibald Lampman




The wind-swayed daisies, that on every side
    Throng the wide fields in whispering companies,
    Serene and gently smiling like the eyes
Of tender children long beatified,
The delicate thought-wrapped buttercups that glide                     5
    Like sparks of fire above the wavering grass,
    And swing and toss with all the airs that pass,
Yet seem so peaceful, so preoccupied;

These are the emblems of pure pleasures flown,
    I scarce can think of pleasure without these.                         10
Even to dream of them is to disown
    The cold forlorn midwinter reveries,
Lulled with the perfume of old hopes new-blown,
    No longer dreams, but dear realities.