Here is the iron weed, Slender and stately, Amethyst tinted, Beloved of the bee. Here, the wild aster, The blue ageratum, The jewel-weed trembling On meadow and lea. Mauve is the thistle bloom, Silver the thistle, Guarded by daggers They stand on the ridge. No bird flies above them, No call from the thicket, They hear but the droning Of gnat and of midge. The streams now in quiet pools Dream of their flooding, Two aspens, two willows Lean where there was one. The plow is not turning, The scythe is not mowing, The fields and the meadows Drowse in the sun. Here is a stillness Unbroken by laughter Of bird or of fountain. This hushed afternoon, Tread gently, speak softly, The summer is sleeping, The frost will awaken her Only too soon. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BILL SWEENY OF THE BLACK GANG by JAMES BARNES THE SORCERESS OF THE MOON by WILLIAM ROSE BENET THE COMPLETE MISANTHROPIST by MORRIS GILBERT BISHOP A MORNING PIECE; WRITTEN IN ABSENCE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN BREVI TEMPORE MAGNUM PERFECIT OPUS by DIGBY MACKWORTH DOLBEN SHUT WINDOWS (FOR THE BRAILLE MAGAZINE) by WILLIAM ARTHUR DUNKERLEY PRIMA DONNA OF THE NEGRO JAZZ ORCHESTRA by ELLEN COIT ELLIOTT |