by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
The little cares that fretted me,
I lost them yesterday
Among the fields above the sea,
Among the winds at play;
The rustling of the trees,
Among the singing of the birds,
The humming of the bees.
I cast them all away
Among the clover-scented grass,
Among the new-mown hay;
Where drowsy poppies nod,
Where ill thoughts die and good are born,
Out in the fields with God.