Over the farm is brooding silence now--
No reaper's song--no raven's clangor harsh--
No bleat of sheep--no distant low of cow--
No croak of frogs within the spreading marsh--
No bragging cock from litter'd farm-yard crows,
The scene is steep'd in silence and repose.
A trembling haze hangs over all the fields--
The panting cattle in the river stand
Seeking the coolness which its wave scarce yields.
It seems a Sabbath thro' the drowsy land:
So hush'd is all beneath the Summer's spell,
I pause and listen for some faint church bell.
The leaves are motionless--the song-bird's mute--
The very air seems somnolent and sick:
The spreading branches with o'er-ripen'd fruit
Show in the sunshine all their clusters thick,
While now and then a mellow apple falls
With a dull sound within the orchard's walls.
The sky has but one solitary cloud,
Like a dark island in a sea of light;
The parching furrows 'twixt the corn-rows ploughed
Seem fairly dancing in my dazzled sight,
While over yonder road a dusty haze
Grows reddish purple in the sultry blaze.