pictures - charles ives lyrics
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the ripe corn bends low
when the wind blows fair
like curtseying maidens
curts’ying maidens
with golden hair
dark billows reflect
the gath’ring clouds;
the white foam is frothing
like tossing shrouds
winds are sobbing
in pinetree wood
the moor is a king’s robe
stained with blood
the wild rose sleeps above the pool
round her sleepeth every leaf;
the night air, soft and cool
cradles them all above the pool
and all their shadows sleep beneath
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