 | The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley |  |
586
AT UTTER LOAF
I
An afternoon as ripe with heatAs 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 shadeThat 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 skeinOf some tired spider, looped and blown,
As fragile as a strand of rain,
Across the air, and upward thrown
By breaths of hay-fields newly mown—
So glimmering it is and fine,
I doubt these drowsy eyes of mine.
587
IV
Far-off and faint as voices pentIn 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 knowMy 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.
| The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley | |