I LOOKED from my window At peep of day: The fields were sleeping In the mist and grey. So fast their slumber, They never stirred, Though from the coppice Piped the first bird. So strange their faces As the cold light grew; They might be spirits Of the fields I knew. The pale light breaking Over the hill, Streaked with cold amber And the daffodil, Waked not these sluggards; Nor Chanticleer, Winding his horn For the folk to hear, But when in his splendour The sun leaped high, They stretched and opened One drowsy eye. The fields of morning, Withdrawn apart, Were cold as winter To my frightened heart. So far in dreaming They had wandered, strayed; For one chill moment I thought them dead. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SURFACES AND MASKS; 1 by CLARENCE MAJOR SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: JOSEPH DIXON by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SURFACE AND STRUCTURE: BONAVENTURE HOTEL, LOS ANGELES by KAREN SWENSON COMRADE JESUS by SARAH NORCLIFFE CLEGHORN THE SOLDIER GOING TO THE FIELD by WILLIAM DAVENANT THE DAY IS DONE by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW |