The very spirit of summer breathes to-day, Here where I sun me in a dreamy mood, And laps the sultry leas, and seems to brood Tenderly o'er those hazed hills far away. The air is fragrant with the new-mown hay, And drowsed with hum of myriad flies pursued By twittering martins. All yon hillside wood Is drowned in sunshine till its green looks grey. No scrap of cloud is in the still blue sky, Vaporous with heat, from which the foreground trees Stand out--each leaf cut sharp. The whetted scythe Makes rustic music for me as I lie, Watching the gambols of the children blythe, Drinking the season's sweetness to the lees. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LETTER TO MAXINE SULLIVAN by HAYDEN CARRUTH TO SEE THE STARS IN DAYLIGHT by JAMES GALVIN DE LITTLE PICKANINNY'S GONE TO SLEEP by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON THE STORM by KATHERINE MANSFIELD SONG OF THE MOON by CLAUDE MCKAY ANOTHER DARK LADY by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON DEMOS by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON BEFORE A STATUE OF ACHILLES by GEORGE SANTAYANA ELEGY: THE LITTLE GHOST WHO DIED FOR LOVE; FOR ALLANAH HARPER by EDITH SITWELL |