Tell me about that harvest field. br Oh! Fifty acres of living bread. br The colour has painted itself in my heart; br The form is patterned in my head. br br So now I take it everywhere, br See it whenever I look round; br Hear it growing through every sound, br Know exactly the sound it makes — br Remembering, as one must all day, br Under the pavement the live earth aches. br br Trees are at the farther end, br Limes all full of the mumbling bee: br So there must be a harvest field br Whenever one thinks of a linden tree. br br A hedge is about it, very tall, br Hazy and cool, and breathing sweet. br Round paradise is such a wall, br And all the day, in such a way, br In paradise the wild birds call. br br You only need to close your eyes br And go within your secret mind, br And you'll be into paradise: br I've learnt quite easily to find br Some linden trees and drowsy bees, br A tall sweet hedge with the corn behind. br br I will not have that harvest mown: br I'll keep the corn and leave the bread. br I've bought that field; it's now my own: br I've fifty acres in my head. br I take it as a dream to bed. br I carry it about all day.... br br Sometimes when I have found a friend br I give a blade of corn away.