Brown earth splits beneath my plow,
New tenants sweep the bird house clean;
The air is sweet and vibrant now,
The willows shake themselves and preen.

The sunlight's mirthful, like a child,
The breeze, seductive as a kiss,
And life itself, has turned "quite mild"-
And I am drunk with all of this!

I have a longing to be gone,
To hitch my plow to Pegasus.
How we should fly after we are done !
The earth could hardly keep up with us!

I'd take a pocketful of corn,
I'd take a pocketful of seeds;
Some tiny lambs that were just born,
To fill some other farmer's needs.

We could plant corn in Greece,
Turn over earth on a Chinese hill;
Set out olive trees in Nice,
Cultivate oranges in Seville.

We are true farmers, my plow and I,
With a strange longing to be free;
To plow the whole wide world and sky
Forever into fertility!