midnight
They are all mine -- these Kentucky wheat-fields . After the owner has taken from them his last sheaf I come in and gather my harvest also -- one that he did not see , and doubtless would not begrudge me -- the harvest of beauty . Or I walk beside tufted aromatic hemp-fields , as along the shores of softly foaming emerald seas ; or past the rank and file of fields of Indian-corn , which stand like armies that had gotten ready to march , but been kept waiting for further orders , until at last the soldiers had gotten tired , as the gayest will , of their yellow plumes and green ribbons , and let their big hands fall heavily down at their sides . There the white and the purple morning-glories hang their long festoons and open to the soft midnight winds their elfin trumpets . This year as never before I have felt the beauty of the world . And with the new brightness in which every common scene has been apparelled there has stirred within me a need of human companionship unknown in the past . It is as if Nature had spread out her last loveliness and said : `` See !