Bliss Carman

BEHOLD, now, where the pageant of high June

Halts in the glowing noon!

The trailing shadows rest on plain and hill;

The bannered hosts are still;

While over forest crown and mountain-head

The azure tent is spread.

The song is hushed in every woodland throat;

Moveless the lilies float;

Even the ancient ever-murmuring sea

Sighs only fitfully;

The cattle drowse in the field-corner’s shade;

Peace on the world is laid.

It is the hour when Nature’s caravan,

That bears the pilgrim Man

To the far region of his hope sublime

Across the desert of time,

Rests in the green oasis of the year,

Its journey’s end drawn near.

Ah, traveler, hast thou nought of thanks or praise

For these fleet halcyon days?—

No courage to uplift thee from despair

Born with the breath of prayer?

Then turn thee to the lilied field once more!

God stands in his tent door.