Pictures by Charles Ives Lyrics

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