The wind, out of the west, waved and swept the wheat, while the almost imperceptible shadows followed.
A road half overgrown with grass and goldenrod bordered the wheat-field, and it wound away down toward the house.

Her father appeared mounted on the white horse he always rode.

Lenore sat down in the grass to wait for him.

Nodding stalks of goldenrod leaned to her face.

When looked at closely, how truly gold their color! Yet it was not such a gold as that of the rich blaze of ripe wheat.