| Higginson and Bigelow, comps. American Sonnets. 1891. | | | | Indian Summer | | By Lewis Frank Tooker (1855–1925) |
| | | WHAT heights of rest are in these silences! | |
| What thirst of plains the sunlight seems to slake! | |
| The meadows bask. No bitter north-winds wake | |
| The tree-tops from their fruitless dream of ease. | |
| The slow brooks murmur like a swarm of bees, | 5 |
| And some shy creature in the tangled brake | |
| Darts and is still, and trooping sparrows make | |
| A moment’s chatter in the cedar-trees. | |
| Then on far skies they quickly seem to cease, | |
| Or, wheeling, drop behind some stubbled mound; | 10 |
| But all day long the brooks find no release, | |
| And lift their wandering undertones of sound. | |
| This is the year’s full flower, the crown of peace, | |
| The sunlight’s harvest, and the south-wind’s bound. | | | | |
|
|
