For the lands and for these passionate days and for myself，

    Now I awhile retire to thee O soil of autumn fields，

    Reclining on thy breast， giving myself to thee，

    Answering the pulses of thy sane and equable heart，

    Tuning a verse for thee.

    O earth that hast no voice， confide to me a voice，

    O harvest of my lands - O boundless summer growths，

    O lavish brown parturient earth - O infinite teeming womb，

    A song to narrate thee.