O the sweetness of the jangle
Of the sheep-bells, in the tangle
Of the wild witch-hazel bushes and the spreading
red-bud trees!
--Ah, the silence when it ceases!
But the beauty of the fleeces,
And soft eyes peering at me through the wood-
bine lattices!
And beyond them, and the network
Of the dogwood, and the fretwork
Of the interlacing grapevines, and across the meadow land,
I can see the color showing
Where the winter-wheat is growing,
With the corn encamped about it like a plumed
protecting band.
While among the many-seeded
Tufts of russet weeds, unheeded,
Truant ducks go idly twinkling through the yellow
stubble-field;
Their white feathers like the glosses
Of the shining silver bosses
That adorn the tawny luster of an olden golden
shield
