All day long
I purpose in yonder
Green meadows to wander
And think of a song.
I shall take
Provision of berries,
Black treacle cherries,
And possibly cake.
Where the boughs
Of gliding willows
Freckle green pillows
I shall drowse,
Or wander blithe
Through scented acres
Where haymakers
Sharpen the scythe.
I shall not lack,
I shall not trouble;
Through fields of stubble
I shall come back--
While dusk is spread,
While twilight lingers--
With purple fingers,
A song in my head.