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Songs
of the Common Day, and Ave!
An
Ode for the Shelley Centenary
by
Charles G.D. Roberts
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THE
PEA-FIELDS
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THESE
are the fields of light, and laughing air,
And yellow butterflies,
and foraging bees,
And whitish, wayward
blossoms winged as these,
And pale green tangles like a seamaid's hair.
Pale, pale the blue, but pure beyond compare, |
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And
pale the sparkle of the far-off seas,
A-shimmer like these
fluttering slopes of peas,
And pale the open landscape everywhere.
From fence to fence a perfumed breath exhales
O'er the bright pallor
of the well-loved fields,— |
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My fields
of Tantramar in summer-time;
And, scorning the
poor feed their pasture yields,
Up from the bushy lots the cattle climb,
To gaze with longing
through the grey, mossed rails. |
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