July

ElizabethBarrett Browning

The little cares that fretted me,

I lost them yesterday

Among the fields above the sea,

Among the winds at play;

Among the lowing of the herds,

The rustling of the trees,

Among the singing of the birds,

The humming of the bees.

The foolish fears of what may happen —

I cast them all away

Among the clover-scented grass,

Among the new-mown hay;

Among the husking of the corn

Where the drowsy poppies nod,

Where ill thoughts die and good are born,

Out in the fields with God.