Have you e'er walked at early morn
Beside a field of stately corn,
Just while the red sun crossed the rim
Of this round world, mist-wet and dim?
Often have I, if but to hear
Mysterious whisperings far and near.

'Tis just at nature's waking-time,
While hillsides yet are white with rime,
And while the first lark, rising, flings
Dew-spray from off his early wings;
And now and then a faint sound tells
Where cattle stir and shake their bells.

" Hush, " says the corn, " with dog and gun
I see a hunter hither run.
O trembling hare, far inward hie;
Lie close, O partridge, do not fly. "
The hunter lists. It seems to say;
" No game is lurking here to-day. "

Sometimes the farmer comes to see,
And then it says: " Here's gold for thee,
Which sun and air and sky and soil
Have gathered to reward thy toil.
Ten thousand sentinels in line
Guard each his gift for thee and thine. "

Or if some Dives walks for health,
Worn out with care of useless wealth,
It whispers: " You make gold of tears,
Of hunger, curses, prayers and fears;
But here are alchemists whose gold
Must feed the hungry, warm the cold. "

Sometimes, with heavy heart, there goes
A love-lorn swain along the rows:
Then " List! " it lisps; " at husking-bee,
When rafters ring with rustic glee
Of brown-cheeked maids and merry men —
Ah, you shall kiss her, kiss her then. "

Thus oft, in low, mysterious wise,
Soft voices from the tall corn rise —
Lulled lispings, as though unknown tongue
Whispered the long lush leaves among —
They tell me secrets sweet and true;
They'll whisper, if you wish, to you.