Joyce Kilmer,
Trees, and Other Poems
“ I On nights like this the huddled sheep Are like white clouds upon the grass, And merry herdsmen guard their sleep And chat and watch the big stars pass. It is a pleasant thing to lie Upon the meadow on the hill With kindly fellowship near by Of sheep and men of gentle will. I lean upon my broken crook And dream of sheep and grass and men — O shameful eyes that cannot look On any honest thing again! On bloody feet I clambered down And fled the wages of my sin, I am the leavings of the town, And meanly serve its meanest inn. ”
