ALFALFA 



TEN thousand wells were in a field, 



And not a well was dry, 

 Nor did they any water yield 



To thirsty passersby; 

 Of purple blooms the walls were built, 



With masonry complete, 

 When summer skies the sunshine spilt, 



And filled them full of sweet. 



Every well was swung in air, 



And each was blossom-bound, 

 Unnumbered pilgrims tarried there 



On that fair camping-ground ; 

 O'er the field flew butterflies 



Like floating flakes of snow 

 Wafted down from wintry skies 



So soft and still arid slow. 



V. 



W 



In that alfalfa field I heard 



The serenade of bees, 

 As when the breezes blossoms stirred, 



Like trembling organ keys; 

 I read the mystic meadow rune, 



Ensphered with rare perfume, 

 And heard the lark's love-lute of June 



Trill o'er alfalfa bloom. 



18 



273 



