At Utter Loaf

I. An afternoon as ripe with heat As might the golden pippin be With mellowness if at my feet It dropped now from the apple-tree My hammock swings in lazily. II. The boughs about me spread a shade That shields me from the sun, but weaves With breezy shuttles through the leaves Blue rifts of skies, to gleam and fade Upon the eyes that only see Just of themselves, all drowsily. III. Above me drifts the fallen skein Of some tired spider, looped and blown, As fragile as a strand of rain, Across the air, and upward thrown By breaths of hayfields newly mown-- So glimmering it is and fine, I doubt these drowsy eyes of mine. IV. Far-off and faint as voices pent In mines, and heard from underground, Come murmurs as of discontent, And clamorings of sullen sound The city sends me, as, I guess, To vex me, though they do but bless Me in my drowsy fastnesses. V. I have no care. I only know My hammock hides and holds me here In lands of shade a prisoner: While lazily the breezes blow Light leaves of sunshine over me, And back and forth and to and fro I swing, enwrapped in some hushed glee, Smiling at all things drowsily.