Symphony in Brown and Gold

A tiny thatched farmhouse with weather-scarred walls,
And the hovering hum of the grumbling bees
That drink the heaped honey-cells down to their lees,
The rippling rustle of fluttering falls,
And the tiny brown rabbits browse under the trees.

The wide field of stubble parched up by the sun,
And the ripened corn stacked in its garner of sheaves,
While the swallows rise suddenly up from the eaves,
And the scampering squirrels increase in their run
At tremulous thunder afloat in the leaves.

C. Q. P.