Classic Poem

She speaks.

Look at the little darlings in the corn!
The rye is taller than you, who think yourself
So high and mighty: look how the heads are borne
Dark and proud on the sky, like a number of knights
Passing with spears and pennants and manly scorn.

Knights indeed! — much knight I know will ride
With his head held high-serene against the sky!
Limping and following rather at my side
Moaning for me to love him! — O darling rye
How I adore you for your simple pride!

And the dear, dear fireflies wafting in between
And over the swaying corn-stalks, just above
All the dark-feathered helmets, like little green
Stars come low and wandering here for love
Of these dark knights, shedding their delicate sheen!

I thank you I do, you happy creatures, you dears,
Riding the air, and carrying all the time
Your-little lanterns behind you! Ah, it cheers
My soul to see you settling and trying to climb
The corn-stalks, tipping with fire the spears.

All over the dim corn's motion, against the blue
Dark sky of night, a wandering glitter, a swarm
Of questing brilliant souls going out with their true
Proud knights to battle! Sweet, how I warm
My poor, my perished soul with the sight of you!