Poem by Bryan Waller Procter

In France

The poplars in the fields of France
Are golden ladies come to dance;
But yet to see them there is none
But I and the September sun.

The girl who in their shadow sits
Can only see the sock she knits;
Her dog is watching all the day
That not a cow shall go astray.

The leisurely contented cows
Can only see the earth they browse;
Their piebald bodies through the grass
With busy, munching noses pass.

Alone the sun and I behold
Processions crowned with shining gold -
The poplars in the fields of France,
Like glorious ladies come to dance. 

1. Golden-Tressed Adelaide
2. Sit Down, Sad Soul
3. The Poet's Song to His Wife
4. A Petition to Time
5. The Old Witch in the Copse

Francis Ledwidge In France ("THE silence of maternal hills")

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