ON summer evenings blue, pricked by the wheat On rustic paths the thin grass I shall tread, And feel its freshness underneath my feet, And, dreaming, let the wind bathe my bare head. I shall not speak, nor think, but, walking slow Through Nature, I shall rove with Love my guide, As gypsies wander, where, they do not know, Happy as one walks by a woman's side. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SEMANTICS OF FLOWERS ON MEMORIAL DAY by BOB HICOK SPRINGTIDE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON VOLUPTAS by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON SURFACES AND MASKS; 12 by CLARENCE MAJOR THE RAINY SEASON by CLARENCE MAJOR SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: RICHARD BONE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: SHACK DYE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |