Summer Studies. II.

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.

James Barron Hope

James Barron Hope was an American poet, lawyer, and orator, celebrated for his patriotic verse and speeches, particularly those pertaining to Virginia's history. Born on March 23, 1829, in Virginia, he became known for his eloquence and literary gifts. His works often reflected the Southern heritage and the tumultuous period of the American Civil War. Hope's contributions to American literature remain a testament to his skill and devotion to his craft. He passed away on September 15, 1887.

James Barron Hope

Indolence. [1]

James Barron Hope, Simple Poetry

Arms And The Man. - The Dead Statesman.

James Barron Hope, Simple Poetry

A Reply To A Young Lady.

James Barron Hope, Simple Poetry

To The Poet-Priest Ryan. In Acknowledgment Of A Copy Of His Poems.

James Barron Hope, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Summer Studies. I.

The cock hath crow'd. I hear the doors unbarr'd;
Down to the moss-grown porch my way I take,
And hear, beside the well within the yard,
Full many an ancient, quacking, splashing drake,
And gabbling goose, and noisy brood-hen - all
Responding to yon strutting gobbler's call.

The dew is thick upon the velvet grass -
The porch-rails hold it in translucent drops,
And as the cattle from th' enclosure pass,
Each one, alternate, slowly halts and crops
The tall, green spears, with all their dewy load,
Which grow beside the well-known pasture-road.

A lustrous polish is on all the leaves -
The birds flit in and out with varied notes -
The noisy swallows twitter 'neath the eaves -
A partridge-whistle thro' the garden floats,
While yonder gaudy peacock harshly...

James Barron Hope

Summer Studies. III.

That solitary cloud grows dark and wide,
While distant thunder rumbles in the air,
A fitful ripple breaks the river's tide -
The lazy cattle are no longer there,
But homeward come in long procession slow,
With many a bleat and many a plaintive low.

Darker and wider-spreading o'er the west
Advancing clouds, each in fantastic form,
And mirror'd turrets on the river's breast
Tell in advance the coming of a storm -
Closer and brighter glares the lightning's flash
And louder, nearer, sounds the thunder's crash.

The air of evening is intensely hot,
The breeze feels heated as it fans my brows -
Now sullen rain-drops patter down like shot -
Strike in the grass, or rattle 'mid the boughs.
A sultry lull: and then a gust again,
And now I see the thick-ad...

James Barron Hope

August.

    A day of torpor in the sullen heat
        Of Summer's passion: In the sluggish stream
    The panting cattle lave their lazy feet,
        With drowsy eyes, and dream.

    Long since the winds have died, and in the sky
        There lives no cloud to hint of Nature's grief;
    The sun glares ever like an evil eye,
        And withers flower and leaf.

    Upon the gleaming harvest-field remote
        The thresher lies deserted, like some old
    Dismantled galleon that hangs afloat
        Upon a sea of gold.

    The yearning cry of some bewildered bird
        Above an empty nest, and truant boys
    Along the river's shady margin heard -
        A harmony of noise -

    A melody of wrangling voices blent
        With liquid...

James Whitcomb Riley

Songs Of The Summer Days

    I.

    A glory on the chamber wall!
    A glory in the brain!
    Triumphant floods of glory fall
    On heath, and wold, and plain.

    Earth lieth still in hopeless bliss;
    She has, and seeks no more;
    Forgets that days come after this,
    Forgets the days before.

    Each ripple waves a flickering fire
    Of gladness, as it runs;
    They laugh and flash, and leap and spire,
    And toss ten thousand suns.

    But hark! low, in the world within,
    One sad aeolian tone:
    "Ah! shall we ever, ever win
    A summer of our own?"


    II.

    A morn of winds and swaying trees--
    Earth's jubilance rushing out!
    The birds are fighting with the breeze;
    The waters heave about...

George MacDonald

An Autumn Landscape

No wind there is that either pipes or moans;
The fields are cold and still; the sky
Is covered with a blue-gray sheet
Of motionless cloud; and at my feet
The river, curling softly by,
Whispers and dimples round its quiet gray stones.

Along the chill green slope that dips and heaves
The road runs rough and silent, lined
With plum-trees, misty and blue-gray,
And poplars pallid as the day,
In masses spectral, undefined,
Pale greenish stems half hid in dry gray leaves.

And on beside the river's sober edge
A long fresh field lies black. Beyond,
Low thickets gray and reddish stand,
Stroked white with birch; and near at hand,
Over a little steel-smooth pond,
Hang multitudes of thin and withering sedge.

Across a waste and solitary rise

Archibald Lampman

September

Now hath the summer reached her golden close,
And, lost amid her corn-fields, bright of soul,
Scarcely perceives from her divine repose
How near, how swift, the inevitable goal:
Still, still, she smiles, though from her careless feet
The bounty and the fruitful strength are gone,
And through the soft long wondering days goes on
The silent sere decadence sad and sweet.

The kingbird and the pensive thrush are fled,
Children of light, too fearful of the gloom;
The sun falls low, the secret word is said,
The mouldering woods grow silent as the tomb;
Even the fields have lost their sovereign grace,
The cone-flower and the marguerite; and no more,
Across the river's shadow-haunted floor,
The paths of skimming swallows interlace.

Already in the outland wi...

Archibald Lampman