Classic Poem

A Bean field full in blossom smells as sweet
As Araby or Groves of orange flowers
Black eyed and white and feathered to ones feet
How sweet they smell in mornings dewy hours
When seething night is left upon the flowers
And when morns bright sun shines oer the field
The pea bloom glitters in the gems o' showers
And sweet the fragrance which the union yields
To battered footpaths crossing o'er the fields