Among The Millet.
The dew is gleaming in the grass, The morning hours are seven, And I am fain to watch you pass, Ye soft white clouds of heaven. Ye stray and gather, part and fold; The wind alone can tame you; I think of what in time of old The poets loved to name you. They called you sheep, the sky your sward, A field without a reaper; They called the shining sun your lord, The shepherd wind your keeper. Your sweetest poets I will deem The men of old for moulding In simple beauty such a dream, And I could lie beholding, Where daisies in the meadow toss, The wind from morn till even, Forever shepherd you across The shining field of heaven.
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"The dew is gleaming in the grass,..."
This evocative piece by Archibald Lampman, titled "Among The Millet.", represents a masterful exploration of classic. The lines capture a profound emotional resonance... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...