id	author	title	date	pages	extension	mime	words	sentences	flesch	summary	cache	txt
14782	Roberts, Lloyd	England over Seas			.txt	text/plain	6094	444	98	A thousand little summer winds are singing in the wheat. Till all grow white like snow. Till naked crouch the gentle hosts where the winds have run. The black rain follows close behind, the pale sun flees before, And as their feet came up the hill, my tired heart grew glad-There's not a wind that brushes the long bright fields of corn, There's not a wind that draws the rain across the face of morn So I would not hear the voices that were calling day and night, Till the pale sun lifts through the rosy mists I lift my silent feet on the long trail home. The winds run warm on the waves of the grass that lifts like a scented sea. So long as the plains are red with sun, Black and white the face of night, In the creeping night the black winds cry.	./cache/14782.txt	./txt/14782.txt