Classic Poem

The summer's prime is come again;
The lilies bloom anew;
The current keeps the doubtful past
Deep in its bosom blue,
And low through quiet fields
Grey with the falling dew.

The sheepbell tolls the curfew time;
The gnats, a busy rout,
Fleck the warm air; the distant owl
Shouteth a sleepy shout:
The voiceless bat, more felt than seen,
Is flitting round about;

The poplar's leaflet scarcely stirs;
The river seems to think;
Across the dusk the lily broad
Looks coolly from the brink;
And knee deep in the freshet's fall,
The meek-eyed cattle drink.

The chafers boom; the white moths rise
Like spirits from the ground;
The greyflies sing their weary tune,
A distant, dream-like sound;
And far, far off, in the slumberous eve,
Bayeth a restless hound.