Ii

Beside the wall the roses blow That Noon's hot breezes scarcely shake; Beside the wall the poppies glow, So full of fire their deep hearts ache; The drowsy butterflies fly slow, Half sleeping, half awake.

Sweet Noontide, Rest,-- A reaper sleeping,-- His head on thy breast, Thy redolent breast, Dreams of the reaping, While sounds of the scythes all around him are sweeping.