A SUMMER AFTERNOON
James Whitcomb Riley
A languid atmosphere, a lazy breeze,With labored respiration, moves the wheatFrom distant reaches, till the golden seasBreak in crisp whispers at my feet.
My book, neglected of an idle mind,Hides for a moment from the eyes of men;Or lightly opened by a critic wind,Affrightedly reviews itself again.
Off through the haze that dances in the shineThe warm sun showers in the open glade,The forest lies, a silhouette designDimmed through and through with shade.
A dreamy day; and tranquilly I lieAt anchor from all storms of mental strain;With absent vision, gazing at the sky,"Like one that hears it rain."
The Katydid, so boisterous last night,Clinging, inverted, in uneasy poise,Beneath a wheat-blade, has forgotten quiteIf "Katy DID or DIDN'T" make a noise.
The twitter, sometimes, of a wayward birdThat checks the song abruptly at the sound,And mildly, chiding echoes that have stirred,Sink into silence, all the more profound.
And drowsily I hear the plaintive strainOf some poor dove . . . Why, I can scarcely keepMy heavy eyelids--there it is again--"Coo-coo !" - I mustn't - "Coo-coo !" - fall asleep !
|
|
