Beneath the full midsummer heat 



Are stocks of golden garnered wheat ; 



Are billows of unripe oats, grey-green ; 



Are armies of corn blades, trenchant, keen, 



The killdeer flutes his mournful cries 



The hawk in charmed circle flies 



Berries ripen beneath the leaves 



And warm and still are the musky eves. 



The moon shines bright in the cloudless sky, 

 The crickets sing and the night birds cry ! 



