Noontide

John Leyden (1775–1811)

BENEATH a shivering canopy reclined,

Of aspen-leaves that wave without a wind,

I love to lie, when lulling breezes stir

The spiry cones that tremble on the fir;

Or wander mid the dark-green fields of broom,

When peers in scattered tufts the yellow bloom;

Or trace the path with tangling furze o’errun,

When bursting seed-bells crackle in the sun,

And pittering grasshoppers, confus’dly shrill,

Pipe giddily along the glowing hill:

Sweet grasshopper, who lov’st at noon to lie

Serenely in the green-ribbed clover’s eye,

To sun thy filmy wings and emerald vest,

Unseen thy form, and undisturbed thy rest,

Oft have I listening mused the sultry day,

And wondered what thy chirping song might say,

When naught was heard along the blossomed lea,

To join thy music, save the listless bee.