OVER the field where the grass is cool, <br />(Follow the road who must !) <br />With a song for the beech and the brown pool, <br />And the noiseless tread in the dust, <br />With a laugh for the lazy hours that go, <br />And the folk who pass us by. <br />(The trees they grow so broad, so low, <br />They shut me from the sky.) <br /> <br />Here be strawberries wild and sweet, <br />(Follow the road who may !) <br />And here's a rest for a bairn's feet <br />And a kiss at the close o' day. <br />And here's a cloud from the shining sea <br />Like a white moth in the night. <br />(On the edge o' the barley field, may be <br />The stars would show more bright.) <br /> <br />Cut me a flute where the reeds are brown. <br />(Follow the road who will !) <br />O, I'll dress you fair in a green gown <br />And a cloak that is finer still. <br />Your sleeves shall be o' the fairies' lawn, <br />Your shoon as red as the rose. <br />(Do you think that the wind which wakes at dawn <br />Will bring us a breath o' the snows ?) <br /> <br />O, the world's wide, and the world is long. <br />(Follow the road who may !) <br />And here's a lilt of the wild song <br />The Romany pipers play. <br />And 'Mine,' it sings, 'is the moon's shield, <br />And the cloak o' the cloud is mine.' <br />(Do you think that the lowland clover field <br />Is sweet as the upland pine ?)<br /><br />Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-hillman-s-lass/
