Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, IN GATINAIS: REPOSE AT NOON, by PAUL FORT


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

IN GATINAIS: REPOSE AT NOON, by                    
First Line: Bee, that the thyme doth sing, how clear thy hum doth ring in the
Last Line: Ear!
Subject(s): Bees; Insects; Life; Noon; Beekeeping; Bugs


Bee, that the thyme doth sing, how clear thy hum doth ring in the hollow of mine
ear!

Bee, down the distance borne, no longer sounds thy horn, thy song I do not hear.

Three seconds ere the noon, life in its course doth swoon. It is the hour of
heaven.

For the standing harvest even, the finch at the rose's marge, on the canal, a
barge.

For the suckling lamb as well: at the white throat of the ewe tinkles no more
the bell.

Two seconds ere the noon, life in its course doth swoon. It is the hour of
heaven.

Bee, that yonder sang, thy horn to my ear no more is borne. Thy song I do not
hear.

Cat, padded paw in air, for what are you waiting there? For a far-off chiming
clear?

Dragon-flies above the stream, the sunlight's aureate dream you to the reeds
have given.

One second ere the noon, life in its course doth swoon. It is the hour of
heaven.

Dew, dew, thy thought disclose. It plunges to the riven heart of a thought
morose.

My heart, where is the past? It is the hour of heaven. Thither no fancies cast.

Bee, down the distance borne, no longer sounds thy horn, thy song I do not hear.

On the belfry's an angel white. There a second takes his flight. Ten others are
hidden near.

At Nargis twelve strokes resound. Life again resumes its round. Balms distill
from the lilies clear.

Bee, that the thyme doth sing, how clear thy hum doth ring in the hollow of mine
ear!





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