  The fields are full of sunlight, And leafy golden-green, And misty purple shadows Are flitting in between; The flaky elder flowers Are drenched with honey-dew, And all the distant woodlands Stand veiled in tender blue. Half seen between green thickets Of grape-vine and wild rose, In twinkling swirls of silver The lazy river flows; While down the grassy roadside The milkweed balls are bright, And waving prince’s-feather Is tipped with snowy white. Ah, ever-dearest home-land, ’Tis here my spirit sings! And as my heart caresses The sweet, familiar things, Such rare midsummer magic Distills through all the air, I think these fields are fairer Than any anywhere!
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