By night we looked across my field, br The tasseled corn was fine to see, br The moon was yellow on the rows br And seemed so wonderful to me, br That with an old provincial pride br I praised my moonlit Tennessee, br And thought my poor befriended man br Would never dare to disagree. br br br He was a frosty Russian man br And wore a bushy Russian beard; br He had two furtive faded eyes br That some old horror once had seared; br I wondered if they ever would br Forget the horrors they had feared; br Yet when I praised my pleasant field br This stupid fellow almost jeered.