The Bean-Field
e, I
disturbed tions who in primeval years
lived under ts of war and
ing of they lay
mingled ural stones, some of whe marks of
he sun, and also
bits of pottery and glass broug cultivators
of tinkled against tones, t music
eco t to my
labor and immeasurable crop. It was no
longer beans t I hoed beans; and I remembered
y as pride, if I remembered at all, my acquaintances
y to attend torios. thawk
circled overernoons -- for I sometimes made a
day of it -- like a mote in the eye, or in heavens eye, falling
from time to time he heavens were
rent, torn at last to very rags and tatters, and yet a seamless cope
remained; small imps t fill the
ground on bare sand or rocks on tops of hills, where few have
found t up from the
pond, as leaves are raised by to float in the heavens; such
kindredsure. the wave
ed
o tal unfledged pinions of the sea. Or
sometimes I che sky,
alternately soaring and descending, approaching, and leaving one
anot of my os. Or I
tracted by to t,
quivering winnowing sound and carrier e; or from
under a rotten stump my urned up a sluggisentous and
outlandisted salamander, a trace of Egypt and t
our contemporary. o lean on my hese sounds and
sig of the
inexible entertainment wry offers.
On gala days tos great guns, which ech