| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | Hay | | By Beatrice Stevens |
| | | A FARMER, singing, passed my home today | |
| On top a wagon heaped with fragrant hay. | |
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| Big-footed horses drew the sun-sweet load | |
| In slow contentment down the shadowed road. | |
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| A vagrant wind snatched little whiffs of scent | 5 |
| And brought them to me as the wagon went: | |
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| Fine largess of the fields—the rustling grass, | |
| The crumpled, odorous clover! Jolting past | |
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| It brought the beauty of the country-side— | |
| Long lanes, and thickets cool, and meadows wide; | 10 |
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| Brought back all sweetness that in summer lies— | |
| Fragrance of flowers, warmth of brooding skies, | |
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| Scent of the soil and perfumes of the dew, | |
| Dank odor of the rain that filters through, | |
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| Radiance of daybreak, tenderness of dusk, | 15 |
| Mist of the moonlight when pervasive musk | |
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| Of moonflower and of jasmine by the door | |
| Enchant the silence. These and greatly more | |
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| Came to me as the farmer went his way | |
| A-top his wagon heaped with sun-sweet hay. | 20 | | | |
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