Noon

Noon like a naked sword lies on the grass,     Heavy with gold, and Time itself doth drowse;     The little stream, too indolent to pass,     Loiters below the cloudy willow boughs,     That build amid the glare a shadowy house,     And with a Paradisal freshness brims     Amid cool-rooted reeds with glossy blade;     The antic water-fly above it skims,     And cows stand shadow-like in the green shade,     Or knee-deep in the grassy glimmer wade.     The earth in golden slumber dreaming lies,     Idly abloom, and nothing sings or moves,     Nor bird, nor bee; and even the butterflies,     Languid with noon, forget their painted loves,     Nor hath the woodland any talk of doves.     Only at times a little breeze will stir,     And send a ripple o'er the sleeping stream,     Or run its fingers through the willows' hair,     And sway the rushes momently agleam -     Then all fall back again into a dream.