Beside the wall the roses blow
That Noon's hot breezes scarcely shake;
Beside the wall the poppies glow,
So full of fire their deep hearts ache;
The drowsy butterflies fly slow,
Half sleeping, half awake.
Sweet Noontide, Rest,--
A reaper sleeping,--
His head on thy breast,
Thy redolent breast,
Dreams of the reaping,
While sounds of the scythes all around him are sweeping.