A RED sun rising at morning
With flame on his burning crest;
A red sun sinking at evening,
In the molten glow of the west;
The air grown languid and drooping,
On wings too heavy to fly;
The voice of a drowsy locust
That croons to a drowsy sky;
And cool waves crisping and darkling
Across the hot sands of July!
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .