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what's o'clock
To-day I saw a country I knew well but had never seen.
A country where corn runs a mile or more to a tree-line,
A country where a river, brown as bronze, streaked green with the flowing heads of water-plants,
Slips between a field of apples and a field of wheat.
A country where the eye seeks a long way
And comes back on the curve of a round sky,
Satisfied with greens and blues, tired with the stretch and exhilarated by it.
A country where corn runs a mile or more to a tree-line,
A country where a river, brown as bronze, streaked green with the flowing heads of water-plants,
Slips between a field of apples and a field of wheat.
A country where the eye seeks a long way
And comes back on the curve of a round sky,
Satisfied with greens and blues, tired with the stretch and exhilarated by it.
The moon stops a moment in a hole between leaves
And tells me a new story,
The story of a man who lives in a house with a pear-tree before the door,
A story of little green pears changing and ripening,
And tells me a new story,
The story of a man who lives in a house with a pear-tree before the door,
A story of little green pears changing and ripening,
