14
Evening
The trees in the windless field like a herd asleep.

15
Indian Summer
The men in the field are almost through stacking rows of pale yellow cornstalks.
On the lawn a girl is raking the leaves into a fire.

16
We children used to cross the orchard, the brown earth covered 
        with little green apples,
into the field beyond;
the grass came up over our knees,
there were so many flowers we did not care to pick any—
daisies and yellow daisies, goldenrod and buttercups.
It was so hot the field smelt of cake baking.

17
After dinner, Sunday afternoons, we boys would walk slowly
to the lots between the streets and the marshes;
and seated under the pale blue sky would watch the ball game—
in a noisy, joyous crowd, lemonade men out in the fringe
       tinkling their bells beside their yellow carts.
As we walked back, the city stretched its rows of houses across the lots—
light after light, as the lamplighter went his way and women
       lit the gas in kitchens to make supper.

18
Swiftly the dawn became day. I went into the street.
Loudly and cheerfully the sparrows chirped.
The street-lamps were still lit, the sky pale and brightening.
Hidden in trees and on the roofs,
loudly and cheerfully the sparrows chirped.