Hay

Beatrice Stevens

A farmer, singing, passed my home today
On top a wagon heaped with fragrant hay.

Big-footed horses drew the sun-sweet load
In slow contentment down the shadowed road.

A vagrant wind snatched little whiffs of scent
And brought them to me as the wagon went:

Fine largess of the fields—the rustling grass,
The crumpled, odorous clover! Jolting past

It brought the beauty of the country-side—
Long lanes, and thickets cool, and meadows wide;

Brought back all sweetness that in summer lies—
Fragrance of flowers, warmth of brooding skies,

Scent of the soil and perfumes of the dew,
Dank odor of the rain that filters through.

Radiance of daybreak, tenderness of dusk,
Mist of the moonlight when pervasive musk

Of moonflower and of jasmine by the door
Enchant the silence. These and greatly more

Came to me as the farmer went his way
A-top his wagon heaped with sun-sweet hay.