LIE in the summer meadows,
In the meadows all alone,
With the infinite sky above me,
And the sun on his midday throne.
The smell of the flowering grasses
Is sweeter than any rose,'
And a million happy insects
Sing in the warm repose.
The mother lark that is brooding
Feels the sun on her wings,
And the deeps of the noonday glitter
With swarms of fairy things.
by Bayard Taylor

File:Marianne Stokes - In the Meadow.jpg