High Summer

I NEVER wholly feel that summer is high,

However green the trees, or loud the birds,

However movelessly eye-winking herds

Stand in field ponds, or under large trees lie,

Till I do climb all cultured pastures by,

That hedged by hedgerows studiously fretted trim,

Smile like a lady's face with lace laced prim,

And on some moor or hill that seeks the sky

Lonely and nakedly,--utterly lie down,

And feel the sunshine throbbing on body and limb,

My drowsy brain in pleasant drunkenness swim,

Each rising thought sink back and dreamily drown,

Smiles creep o'er my face, and smother my lips, and cloy,

Each muscle sink to itself, and separately enjoy.

Ebenezer Jones