Pass daily through the flowered field,
As if the loss of such a place
Would cause the beating of your heart
To cease, appalled to lose its grace.
The buds will soon fade with the light
The crickets drag their emerald wings
The stream that borders in between
Be passed with snowflakes' ivory rings.
Smell yet the poppy's fragrant throat
The wind that passes through the weeds
And fingers feet of butterflies
As they flit through the riffling leaves.
Walk daily through the flowered field,
Or autumn, with her fallen face
Will paint the wild roses brown
And turn to winter, in its haste.