HEAT
From plains
that reel to southward, dim,
The road runs by me white and
bare;
Up the steep hill it seems to swim
Beyond, and melt into the glare.
Upward half way, or it may be
5
Nearer the summit, slowly steals
A hay-cart, moving dustily
With idly clacking wheels.
By his cart’s
side the wagoner
Is slouching slowly at his ease,
10
Half-hidden in the windless blur
Of white dust puffing to his
knees.
This wagon on the height above,
From sky to sky on either hand,
Is the sole thing that seems to move
15
In all the heat-held land.
Beyond me
in the fields the sun
Soaks in the grass and hath
his will;
I count the marguerites one by one;
Even the buttercups are still.
20
On the brook yonder not a breath
Disturbs the spider at the midge.
The water-bugs draw close beneath
The cool gloom of the bridge.
Where the
far elm-tree shadows flood
25
Dark patches in the burning
grass,
The cows, each with her peaceful cud,
Lie waiting for the heat to
pass.
From somewhere on the slope near by
Into the pale depth of the noon
30
A wandering thrush slides leisurely
His thin revolving tune.
In intervals
of dreams I hear
The cricket from the droughty
ground;
The grass-hoppers spin into mine ear
35
A small innumerable sound.
I lift my eyes somewhat to gaze:
The burning sky-line blinds
my sight:
The woods far off are blue with haze:
The hills are drenched in light.
40
And yet to
me not this or that
Is always sharp or always sweet;
In the sloped shadow of my hat
I lean at rest, and drain the
heat;
Nay more, I think some blessed power
45
Hath brought me wandering idly
here:
In the full furnace of this hour
My thoughts grow keen and clear.
|
