Classic and Contemporary Poetry
NOON, by CHARLES MARIE RENE LECONTE DE LISLE Poem Explanation Poet's Biography First Line: Noon whose kingdom summer is, spread wide along the plain's expanse Last Line: Seven times thy heart made stronger in the furnace of thy loss. Subject(s): Noon; Weariness; Fatigue | ||||||||
NOON whose kingdom summer is, spread wide along the plain's expanse, Falls down to earth in swathes of silver from his throne in heaven's blue. All is silent. Air's aflame and burns as in a breathless trance; Earth lies drowsed beyond awaking in her robe of fiery hue. Far, in farness beyond span, stretch meadows where no shadow shows, The stream where once the cattle watered now hath no more draught to bring. Far away the forest slumbers deep amid the darkling boughs Yonder on the still horizon where they stand unquivering. All alone the tall wheat-ears wave to and fro their ripened grain, As though a tide of golden waters, heedless of the drowsy call. Sacred Earth's most careless brood with fearless lips that seek and drain To the lees the brimming chalice that the sun holds out to all. Now and then, as though a sigh from out their burning souls impels, The bosom of the heavy wheat-ears lifts a murmurous sound, a-sway With a slow majestic motion of the golden tide that swells Till it touch the dim horizon where in haze it dies away. Nearer, mid the grasses prone lie oxen white whose dew-laps are Slow-dribbling downward, while inert with dullard gaze from languid eyes Shining brightly, they pursue across the level fields a far Inner thought whereof the still unseizéd phantom ever flies. Get thee hence! O fellow man, avoid at noon these shining fields! Or grief or gladness in thy bosom, fly! for nought is here for thee. Nature is an empty thing and nought to any man she yields: Only here the sun consumes; nought lives or sad or joyously. But if sick of sorry laughter and the bitter sound of woe, Or eager to forget the world and from its fret a way to win, Wrath or pity left behind thee, thou the uttermost wouldst know Of supremest exhaltation, Come! and steep thy soul herein. Here the sun shall speak unto thee words of a sublimer sense; In ardour of its quenchless flame yield up thy selfish being's dross, With slow feet returning then to sinful cities far from hence, Seven times thy heart made stronger in the furnace of thy loss. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VALUE IN MOUNTAINS: 10 by KENNETH REXROTH IMPERIAL NOSTALGIAS: 4 by CESAR VALLEJO BLACK SHEEP by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON TIRED TIM by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE WEARINESS by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW NEURASTENIA by AGNES MARY F. ROBINSON MICHAEL ANGELO by AUGUSTE BARBIER A FESTIVAL by CHARLES MARIE RENE LECONTE DE LISLE AFTER A THOUSAND YEARS by CHARLES MARIE RENE LECONTE DE LISLE |
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