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! — Oh 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!