The dew is gleaming in the grass, <br />The morning hours are seven, <br />And I am fain to watch you pass, <br />Ye soft white clouds of heaven. <br /> <br />Ye stray and gather, part and fold; <br />The wind alone can tame you; <br />I think of what in time of old <br />The poets loved to name you. <br /> <br />They called you sheep, the sky your sward, <br />A field without a reaper; <br />They called the shining sun your lord, <br />The shepherd wind your keeper. <br /> <br />Your sweetest poets I will deem <br />The men of old for moulding <br />In simple beauty such a dream, <br />And I could lie beholding, <br /> <br />Where daisies in the meadow toss, <br />The wind from morn till even, <br />Forever shepherd you across <br />The shining field of heaven.<br /><br />Archibald Lampman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/among-the-millet/
