GREEN FIELDS AND RUNNING BROOKS

By James Whitcomb Riley

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!