Noontide

Beneath a shivering canopy reclined, Of aspen-leaves that wave without a wind, I love to lie, when lulling breezes stir The spiry cones that tremble on the fir; Or wander mid the dark-green fields of broom, When peers in scattered tufts the yellow bloom; Or trace the path with tangling furze o’errun, When bursting seed-bells crackle in the sun, And pittering grasshoppers, confus’dly shrill, Pipe giddily along the glowing hill: Sweet grasshopper, who lov’st at noon to lie Serenely in the green-ribbed clover’s eye, To sun thy filmy wings and emerald vest, Unseen thy form, and undisturbed thy rest, Oft have I listening mused the sultry day, And wondered what thy chirping song might say, When naught was heard along the blossomed lea, To join thy music, save the listless bee.