Вэчел Линдсей (Vachel Lindsay)

The Cornfields

The cornfields rise above mankind, 
Lifting white torches to the blue, 
Each season not ashamed to be 
Magnificently decked for you. 

What right have you to call them yours, 
And in brute lust of riches burn 
Without some radiant penance wrought, 
Some beautiful, devout return?

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