HE 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.
