The pale tints of the twilight fields Have turned into burnished gold, For waves of yellow light have rolled From the open'd east across the wealds; While 'mid the wheat spires far behind Stirs lazily the awaken'd wind. A skylark high (a song-made bird) Sings as though God his singing heard. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO W.E.B. DUBOIS - SCHOLAR by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON A SWEET LULLABY by NICHOLAS BRETON CHOEPHOROI: ORESTES GOES MAD by AESCHYLUS THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH: BOOK 2. DIET by JOHN ARMSTRONG MY PRAYER by CHARLOTTE LOUISE BERTLESEN EPISTLE TO COLONEL DE PEYSTER by ROBERT BURNS PALAMON AND ARCITE, OR THE KNIGHT'S TALE: BOOK 3 by GEOFFREY CHAUCER |