POPPY. 
125 
Or since her daughter that she loved so well, 
By him that in the infernal shades does dwell, 
***** 
Fairest Proserpina was rapt away, 
And she in plaints the night, in tears the day, 
Had long time spent ; when no high power could give her 
Any redresse, the poppy did relieve her : 
For, eating of the seeds, they sleep procured, 
And so beguiled those griefs she long endured. 
THROUGH THE FIELDS. 
WILLIAM SAWYEK. 
Pleasant beneath this burning sky of June, 
To tread the field-paths by these hedges gay, 
With shining gorse and rosy-blossomed May, 
To linger here, where in full blaze of noon, 
Under the quivering branches of the trees, 
The air is cool and fragrant, and the light 
Comes greenly tempered to the aching sight; 
Or to pass hence, and plunging to the knees 
In a green meadow, wade to the full sea 
Of flowering grasses, foaming as we go 
With clustering daisies. Nought more sweet may bo, 
The while the skylight soars and sings, and lo ! 
The cuckoo, lone Narcissus of the woods, 
Of his own name enamored, still that name intrudes. 
