I
By Alma Strettell
And tell it of the harvests,
And plains where maize-fields ripen,
For earth loves fruitfulness,
And I could speak with her
Then, of her fruitfulness,
So that she might grow glad, there where I rest.
Thou wilt recall, to-morrow,
The sunshine of to-day,
tAnd to the sun wilt say :
“ vTrt thou the same, the self-same sun indeedP”
By Alma Strettell
And tell it of the harvests,
And plains where maize-fields ripen,
For earth loves fruitfulness,
And I could speak with her
Then, of her fruitfulness,
So that she might grow glad, there where I rest.
Thou wilt recall, to-morrow,
The sunshine of to-day,
tAnd to the sun wilt say :
“ vTrt thou the same, the self-same sun indeedP”