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AT PLAY
The children play in the fields,
And I who watch am a man,
Knowing the struggle and strife and toll
With work and a hope and a plan;
Bowing my knee to the rod
The king of my leisure wields,
But my heart—my heart is ever at play
With the children in the fields.
My heart is ever at play,
Ever at play in the fields
Smelling the perfume, windy sweet,
The clover blossom yields;
Smiling with curious gaze
At its elders over the way
And harking back to the green again
Where my heart is ever at play!
–Post Wheeler in New York Press
Welland Telegraph May 1900
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