Noonday Rest

CALMER than midnight's deepest hushIs the sun-bright summer nooning,With its cloudy shadows seeking rest,That fall on the hill-side swooning.

Great Night with its solemn starry eyes,Over Day's gate asks us whitherWe go—what our password isTo the camp beyond the river.

But sunny Noon with its sleepy smileRipples the grain -field over,Without a thought of the silent gravesThat may lie beneath the clover.

Knee-deep the drowsy cattle standIn the water's golden glimmer,While berry-bush and bramble-sprayAlong the hot wall shimmer.

The ploughshare glitters in the sun,Through murdered daisies clinging;The nested birds leave busy beesTo do the noonday singing.

Bright Noon no eager questions asks,But, like an old dame's story,Told as she holds us on her breast,Croons soft of love and glory.

The weary ploughman's lazy lengthLies in the shadow narrowThat clings about the haystack foot,Careless as guarded sparrow.

O peaceful hour of summer noon!Life has its midnight slumber;Has it no noonday rest for us,When cares shall cease to cumber?