The Barley Fields.

    The sunset has faded, there's but a tinge,
    Saffron pale, where a star of white
    Has tangled itself in the trailing fringe
    Of the pearl-gray robe of the summer night.

    O the green of the barley fields grows deep,
    The breath of the barley fields grows rare;
    There is rustle and glimmer, sway and sweep -
    The wind is holding high revel there,

    Singing the song it has often sung -
    Hark to the troubadour glad and bold:
    "Sweet is the earth when the summer is young
    And the barley fields are green and gold!"