Here is the iron weed, Slender and stately, Amethyst tinted, Beloved of the bee. Here, the wild aster, The blue ageratum, The jewel-weed trembling On meadow and lea. Mauve is the thistle bloom, Silver the thistle, Guarded by daggers They stand on the ridge. No bird flies above them, No call from the thicket, They hear but the droning Of gnat and of midge. The streams now in quiet pools Dream of their flooding, Two aspens, two willows Lean where there was one. The plow is not turning, The scythe is not mowing, The fields and the meadows Drowse in the sun. Here is a stillness Unbroken by laughter Of bird or of fountain. This hushed afternoon, Tread gently, speak softly, The summer is sleeping, The frost will awaken her Only too soon. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LITTLE BROWN BABY by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE BOHEMIAN HYMN by RALPH WALDO EMERSON TO THE UNKNOWN EROS: BOOK 1: 16. A FAREWELL by COVENTRY KERSEY DIGHTON PATMORE JANUARY, 1795 by MARY DARBY ROBINSON TO THE GIRL WHO HELPED IN THE WAR by JOSEPHINE DODGE DASKAM BACON THE BIRD FANCIER by WILLIAM ROSE BENET INTERVAL by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE FIVE CARLINS; AN ELECTION BALLAD by ROBERT BURNS THE TRYST OF THE NIGHT by MAY (MARY) CLARISSA GILLINGTON BYRON |