English poem
Ii
by Archibald Allan Bowman (1883–1936)
’Tis July, and a sunny stillness broods On our magnificent England. Misty skies Break into blue, and ripening harvests rise Over her bosom. Her majestic woods Ripple and sway before the varying moods Of the west wind. The roses sacrifice In every garden to the sun. There lies Deep peace o’er all: no sound profane intrudes. Far in the north the solemn mountains keep A sanctuary amongst the shades that dwell In the deep gloom of haunted Highland glens, Where silence awes, and where for ever sleep In lochs unfathomed and inscrutable The shadows of the everlasting Bens.
HESEPE, 2nd July