The little cares that fretted me, I lost them yesterday
Among the fields above the sea, among the winds at play;
Among the lowing of the herds, the rustling of the trees,
Among the singing of the birds, the humming of the bees.
The foolish fears of what may happen, I cast them all away
Among the clover-scented grass, among the new-mown hay;
Among the husking of the corn where drowsy poppies nod,
Where ill thoughts die and good are born, out in the fields with God.

-Elizabeth Barrett Browning