A Hot Day

O would I heard the patter
Of raindrops on the trees,
And saw the hot dust scatter
In a breeze !
Earth palpitates, half-sleeping
In the ardent sun's embrace ;
A drowsy look is creeping
O'er her face.
No tiny leaflets quiver,
Scarcely breathes the swooning rose ;
The lazy lukewarm river
Hardly flows.

The outstretched pussy watches
On the window where she lies,
Too languid now for snatches
At the flies.
My panting dogs assemble
In the corners of the hall ;
Their tails but feebly tremble
At my call.
The cows in yonder meadow
Are too indolent to low ;
The sycamores a shadow
Scarce can throw.

Now and then a birdie waking,
Thrills out a liquid note;
The second dies unshaken
In its throat.
The busy bees are humming
O'er a luscious flower-bed,
With louder buzz they're coming
Round my head.
'Neath the blind the sun is throwing
Golden lines upon the floor ;
The beams are coming, going,
At the door.

I hear the old clock ticking
As the sultry moments pass ;
And a small grasshopper clicking
In the grass.
I hear the children playing
In the meadow, gay and lithe,
And the full and measured swinging
Of the scythe.
I hear the kettle singing
Low its cozy little song ;
And the smithy's anvil ringing
Clear and strong.

I hear the turkeys calling,
And complaining sleepily ;
I feel my lashes falling —
Lo ! I see
Mowers, kettles, turkeys, faces,
In fantastic measure meet,
And fair visions of green places
Without heat.
But I awaken, starting
At the flapping of the blind ;
O thank God, the sun's departing !
Here's the wind !