Songs of the Common Day, and Ave!

An Ode for the Shelley Centenary

by Charles G.D. Roberts


 

THE PEA-FIELDS


 

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.