In the parching August wind, Cornfields bow the head, Sheltered in round valley depths, On low hills outspread. Christina G. RossettiA Years Windfalls. St. 8.
Dead is the air, and still! the leaves of the locust and walnut Lazily hang from the boughs, inlaying their intricate outlines Rather on space than the sky,on a tideless expansion of slumber. Bayard TaylorHome Pastorals. August.