On Visiting My Fields
Walking on this green grassy path
In the far spread fields of flowery mustards
Provides a priceless relief to my oh! Tired soul;
Better than the meditating monks feel
In solitude, in the stupas on the Himalayan hilltops;
Where light winds blow continual,
And duck-birds dive in and dance.
And it at first saddens a bit, later making me smile,
When I find it, at places, often,
How my old innocent farmer neighbor
Has secretly budged the stony boundary marks.
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