It is so quiet here. There lies The heath in noon's warm sunshine gold. A gleam of light, all rosy, flies And hovers round the tombstones old. The herbs are blooming; fragrance fair Now fills the bluish summer air. The beetles rush through bush and trees, In little golden coats of mail; And on the heather-bells the bees Alight, on all the branches frail. From out the grass there starts a throng Of larks and fills the air with song. A lonely house, half-crumbled, low: The farmer, in the doorway bent, Stands watching in the sunlight's glow The busy bees in sweet content. And on a stone near by his boy Is carving pipes from reeds with joy. Searce trembling through the peace of noon, The town-clock strikes--from far, it seems. The old man's lids are drooping soon, And of his honey crops he dreams.-- The sounds that fill our time of stress Have not yet reached this loneliness. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE INCORRIGIBLE DIRIGIBLE by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE SMALLISH SON by HAYDEN CARRUTH A WINTER'S NIGHT by ROBERT FROST THE IMPORTANCE OF GREEN by JAMES GALVIN THE LAST MAN'S CLUB by JAMES GALVIN THE MEASURE OF THE YEAR by JAMES GALVIN THE SACRAL DREAMS OF RAMON FERNANDEZ by JAMES GALVIN |