No more cows in the pasture,
No more sheep on the hill,
Only winds in the grass and bay
And a field lark calling shrill
And sweet through the hot blue hours of June,
Here where there used to be
Half a hundred nibbling sheep
In a gray-backed company.

No more cows in the pasture,
No more sheep on the hill,
But often I’ve heard a cowbell clank
When nights are silver-still,
Over the slopes of fern and bay,
From hollow and grassy steep,—
Often I’ve seen the moon shine white
On the backs of moving sheep.

—Rachel Field
American author
1894-1942