At Utter Loaf.

    I.

    An afternoon as ripe with heat
        As might the golden pippin be
    With mellowness if at my feet
        It dropped now from the apple-tree
        My hammock swings in lazily.


    II.

    The boughs about me spread a shade
        That shields me from the sun, but weaves
        With breezy shuttles through the leaves
    Blue rifts of skies, to gleam and fade
        Upon the eyes that only see
        Just of themselves, all drowsily.


    III.

    Above me drifts the fallen skein
        Of some tired spider, looped and blown,
    As fragile as a strand of rain,
        Across the air, and upward thrown
        By breaths of hayfields newly mown -
    So glimmering it is and fine,
        I doubt these drowsy eyes of mine.


    IV.

    Far-off and faint as voices pent
        In mines, and heard from underground,
    Come murmurs as of discontent,
        And clamorings of sullen sound
    The city sends me, as, I guess,
    To vex me, though they do but bless
    Me in my drowsy fastnesses.


    V.

    I have no care.    I only know
        My hammock hides and holds me here
        In lands of shade a prisoner:
    While lazily the breezes blow
        Light leaves of sunshine over me,
    And back and forth and to and fro
        I swing, enwrapped in some hushed glee,
        Smiling at all things drowsily.