The Boots Of the Open Fields.

The bold steps of the spring time on the wits

An emaciated elf,the exit of a gaunt wraith

The spring time 's conscience does not expire with harvest

Nor fade with the slumbering earth drunk with complacency and indolence of arts

To retreat from the fleeting spites and dirty disdain 

Each stalk on the trees must not fall in vain

The portraiture of the wind with the ascending beam 

A rubicund sallow low in gradient power

Decayed humus stake solace in tranquil fertility

Morning tides'pacify with the growing steam

A promising earth burnished the fruitful days

Over all that goes in vain comes in vain

Over all that comes in vain go in vain

Over all that goes in profit and comes in profit

Over all that comes in profit goes in profit

To the golden stars of the bright prospects

The virtual cycle of prosperity and bliss beyond the mountains of saddened illusion never dies the boots of the open fields