 | The Last Crusade and Other Poems |  |
142
[Eternal seems this summer hour]
Eternal seems this summer hour,
The butterfly lolls from flower to flower,
Wind and wave in one cradle rest,
The cloudlet melteth on heaven's blue breast.
The butterfly lolls from flower to flower,
Wind and wave in one cradle rest,
The cloudlet melteth on heaven's blue breast.
Drowsy with sweetness and warmth and scent,
The honey-bee hangs from the blossom bent;
Not a breath in the drooping corn
Or the tree-shadows laced on the hayfield shorn.
The honey-bee hangs from the blossom bent;
Not a breath in the drooping corn
Or the tree-shadows laced on the hayfield shorn.
The mirrored sun in the lap of the lake
Palpitates when her ripples wake;
But now he lieth in slumber still,
Waiting to waken at her light will.
Palpitates when her ripples wake;
But now he lieth in slumber still,
Waiting to waken at her light will.
143
A myriad stars are small and pale
With modesty at her full-flooded light;
Dreamy and dark the shadows streak the vale;
The folded flowers are glistening tearfully—
Hush!—God alone can show thee such a night.
| The Last Crusade and Other Poems | |