  There’s a golden light on one side of the tree, On the other there is a shadow, The shadowy side goes out to me, The other runs down to the meadow, And the light is beckoning me away To the leas and fields of new-mown hay, Beckoning out from the shadow. There’s a shadowyness on one side of the tree, On the other a golden light, And the shadowy side is inviting me To rest in its sweet delight, For the porches are wide, and the ladies are fair, And the heat of the sun is not striking there,— And I stand at the tree in a plight. |
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