A wild coastal wind sweeps through the sycamores and sets the whole Lincolnshire landscape moving. Wheat bends and rises like bowing crowds, far fields shimmer into the sky, and the wind races across the plain and back again. The cows are affectionately teased as “old meadow-gods,” while beanfields and reeds toss about as if riding. Even the clouds are blown along like sailing ships. Watching from inside the farmhouse, the speaker feels a quiet thrill at all this restless energy. The repeated image of the sycamores creates a calm, protected pocket within the windy scene. The mood is both exhilarating and cozy: the speaker admires the untamed power outside, yet feels glad to be safely sheltered indoors.
From a Lincolnshire Farm — Summary
Through the sheltering sycamores Blows the wild wind from the shores, And the nations of the wheat Bow and sway before his feet. Where the far fields fade, and die In the shining of the sky, Right across the spacious plain He is gone, and back again. He will ruffle, as they browse, Those old meadow-gods, the cows; He will toss, like prancing steeds, All the beanfields and the reeds, Whilst the scattered clouds on high Speed like galleons through the sky.
We alone are safe indoors, Sheltered by the sycamores.