NO wind, no bird. The river flames like brass. On either side, smitten as with a spell Of silence, brood the fields. In the deep grass, Edging the dusty roads, lie as they fell Handfuls of shriveled leaves from tree and bush. But 'long the orchard fence and at the gate, Thrusting their saffron torches through the hush, Wild lilies blaze, and bees hum soon and late. Rust-colored the tall straggling brier, not one Rose left. The spider sets its loom up there Close to the roots, and spins out in the sun A silken web from twig to twig. The air Is full of hot rank scents. Upon the hill Drifts the noon's single cloud, white, glaring, still. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FACADE: 21. THE OWL by EDITH SITWELL THE TRANSIENCE OF HANDS by KAREN SWENSON TOY DAY by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE EXTRACTS FROM NEW-YEAR'S VERSES FOR 1825 by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD AN OXFORD IDYLL by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN THE WANDERER: 5. IN HOLLAND: METEMPSYCHOSIS by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |