Noon

Noon like a naked sword lies on the grass, Heavy with gold, and Time itself doth drowse; The little stream, too indolent to pass, Loiters below the cloudy willow boughs, That build amid the glare a shadowy house, And with a Paradisal freshness brims Amid cool-rooted reeds with glossy blade; The antic water-fly above it skims, And cows stand shadow-like in the green shade, Or knee-deep in the grassy glimmer wade. The earth in golden slumber dreaming lies, Idly abloom, and nothing sings or moves, Nor bird, nor bee; and even the butterflies, Languid with noon, forget their painted loves, Nor hath the woodland any talk of doves. Only at times a little breeze will stir, And send a ripple o'er the sleeping stream, Or run its fingers through the willows' hair, And sway the rushes momently agleam-- Then all fall back again into a dream.