THE BUR-MARIGOLD. 



B I DENS CHRYSANTHEMOIDES Mickcmx. 



THE quiet August noon has come; 



A slumbrous silence fills the sky, 

 The fields are still, the woods are dumb, 



In glassy sleep the waters lie. 



And mark yon soft white clouds that rest 

 Above our vale, a moveless throng; 



The cattle on the mountain's breast 

 Enjoy the grateful shadow long. 



Oh, how unlike the merry hours, 



In early June, when earth laughs out, 



When the fresh winds make love to flowers 

 And woodlands sing, and waters shout. 



But now a joy too deep for sound, 

 A peace no other season knows, 



Hushes the heavens and wraps the ground, 

 The blessing of supreme repose. 



Beneath the open sky abroad, 



Among the plants and breathing things, 

 The sinless, peaceful works of God, 



I'll share the calm the season brings. 



Bryant. 



[107] 



