The poplars in the fields of France <br />Are golden ladies come to dance; <br />But yet to see them there is none <br />But I and the September sun. <br /> <br />The girl who in their shadow sits <br />Can only see the sock she knits; <br />Her dog is watching all the day <br />That not a cow shall go astray. <br /> <br />The leisurely contented cows <br />Can only see the earth they browse; <br />Their piebald bodies through the grass <br />With busy, munching noses pass. <br /> <br />Alone the sun and I behold <br />Processions crowned with shining gold -- <br />The poplars in the fields of France, <br />Like glorious ladies come to dance.<br /><br />Barry Cornwall<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-france/
