Midsummer Noon.
By Charles Hamilton Musgrove
Through shimmering skies the big clouds slowly sail;
A faint breeze lingers in the rustling beech;
Atop the withered oak with vagrant speech
The brawling crows call down the sleepy vale;
Unseen the glad cicadas trill their tale
Of deep content in changeless vibrant screech,
And where the old fence rambles out of reach,
The drowsy lizard hugs the shaded rail.
Warm odors from the hayfield wander by,
Afar the homing reaper's noontide tune
Floats on the mellow stillness like a sigh;
One butterfly, ghost of a vanished June,
Soars dimly where in realms of purple sky
Dips the wan crescent of the vapory moon.