For the lands and for these passionate days and for myself，

Now I awhile retire to thee O soil of autumn fields，

Reclining on thy breast， giving myself to thee，

Answering the pulses of thy sane and equable heart，

Tuning a verse for thee.

O earth that hast no voice， confide to me a voice，

O harvest of my lands - O boundless summer growths，

O lavish brown parturient earth - O infinite teeming womb，

A song to narrate thee.