In a Field
F. Hart
The sun and moon I see
Beside me in the grass:
The moon, a daisy's face
As pure and fine as glass;
The sun, a dandelion
As golden as a pound —
Oh what a firmament
Is this which I have found!
White stars the elm tree shakes
To twinkle where they lie
As bright upon the earth
As any in the sky.
This field is heaven's glass
And gazing in I see
What disembodied joys
The future holds for me.