A Summer Noon

'Tis raging noon; and, vertical, the sun

Darts on the head direct his forceful rays.

O'er heaven and earth, far as the ranging eye

Can sweep, a dazzling deluge reigns; and all

From pole to pole is undistinguish'd blaze.

In vain the sight, dejected, to the ground

Stoops for relief; thence hot ascending steams

And keen reflection pain. Deep to the root

Of vegetation parch'd, the cleaving fields

And slippery lawn an arid hue disclose,

Blast fancy's bloom, and wither even the soul.

Echo no more returns the cheerful sound

Of sharpening scythe: the mower sinking, heaps

O'er him the humid hay, with flowers perfumed;

And scarce a chirping grasshopper is heard

Through the dumb mead. Distressful nature pants.

The very streams look languid from afar:

Or, through th' unshelter'd glad, impatient, seem

To hurl into the covert of the grove.

All-conquering heat, oh, intermit thy wrath,

And on my throbbing temples potent thus

Beam not so fierce! incessant still you flow,

And still another fervent flood succeeds,

Pour'd on the head profuse. In vain I sigh,

And restless turn, and look around for night;

Night is far off, and hotter hours approach.

Thrice happy he! who on the sunless side

Of a romantic mountain, forest-crown'd,

Beneath the whole collected shade reclines:

Or in the gelid caverns, woodbine-wrought,

And fresh bedew'd with ever sprouting streams,

Sits coolly calm; while all the world without,

Unsatisfied and sick, tosses in noon.

Emblem instructive of the virtuous ma,

Who keeps his temper'd mind serene and pure

And every passion aptly harmonised,

Amid a jarring world with vice inflamed.