Tons upon tons the brown-green fragrant hay <br /> O'erbrims the mows beyond the time-warped eaves, <br /> Up to the rafters where the spider weaves, <br /> Though few flies wander his secluded way. <br /> Through a high chink one lonely golden ray, <br /> Wherein the dust is dancing, slants unstirred. <br /> In the dry hush some rustlings light are heard, <br /> Of winter-hidden mice at furtive play. <br /> Far down, the cattle in their shadowed stalls, <br /> Nose-deep in clover fodder's meadowy scent, <br /> Forget the snows that whelm their pasture streams, <br /> The frost that bites the world beyond their walls. <br /> Warm housed, they dream of summer, well content <br /> In day-long contemplation of their dreams.<br /><br />Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-an-old-barn/
