Green Fields And Running Brooks

Ho! green fields and running brooks! Knotted strings and fishing-hooks Of the truant, stealing down Weedy backways of the town. Where the sunshine overlooks, By green fields and running brooks, All intruding guests of chance With a golden tolerance, Cooing doves, or pensive pair Of picnickers, straying there— By green fields and running brooks, Sylvan shades and mossy nooks! And—O Dreamer of the Days, Murmurer of roundelays All unsung of words or books, Sing green fields and running brooks!