Ectasian

There's a stubble fieldOn which a black rain fallsThere is a tree which, brown, stands lonely hereThere's a hissing windWhich haunts deserted hutsHow sad, this eveningPast the village pond: the gentle orphan, returning homeStill gathers scanty ears of cornGolden and roundHer eyes are gazing in the duskAnd her throbbing lap awaits the bridegroom... returning homeShepherds found the sweet bodyDecayed in the bramble bushA shade... I am remote from sombre hamletsI drank from the woodland wellThe silence of GodI can feel the touch of cold steelSpiders look for my heartThere is a light that fails in my mouthOn my forehead cold metal formsSpiders look for my heartThere is a light that fails in my mouthI drank from the woodland wellThe silence of God