 | [August, in Through the Year with the Poets] August |  |
106
AUGUST.
I watch thee, Queen, in the first flush of morn,
Walking with Ceres, mid the ripened corn;
She whispers subtle secrets in thine ears
Of earth's great harvests in the antique years.
Walking with Ceres, mid the ripened corn;
She whispers subtle secrets in thine ears
Of earth's great harvests in the antique years.
I see thee through hot noontides veil thy face
In the green shadows of a sylvan place,
While a kind dryad slips from out her tree,
And fans thee into slumber dreamfully.
In the green shadows of a sylvan place,
While a kind dryad slips from out her tree,
And fans thee into slumber dreamfully.
I see thee later by the still sea-strand,
Summer's last poppy reddening in thy hand,
And sunset's royal mystery, grand and fair,
Meshed in the glory of thy Titian hair!
Summer's last poppy reddening in thy hand,
And sunset's royal mystery, grand and fair,
Meshed in the glory of thy Titian hair!
Paul Hamilton Hayne.
| [August, in Through the Year with the Poets] August | |