 | Orellana and Other Poems
|  |
|
I. MORNING.
Loose beechen leaves above me; over which,
The cupola of heaven—so still and bright,
With the sun dreaming in a far high niche,
You think it never can again be night.
Nature at rest. The only sounds that reach
The listening ear are Labour's, and are light—
Rustlings among the oats, the reaper's speech,
And the mill-hum of a small town in sight.
Afield and in the factory they work,
Those at the loom, and these among the corn;
While I, the only idler, seem to shirk
The duty laid on every one that's born,
And, lapt in leaves, among the beeches lurk,
A spy upon my fellows all the morn.
| Orellana and Other Poems
| |
|
