At Midsummer

Louise Chandler Moulton (1835–1908)

THE SPACIOUS Noon enfolds me with its peace—

The affluent Midsummer wraps me round—

So still the earth and air, that scarce a sound

Affronts the silence, and the swift caprice

Of one stray bird’s lone call does but increase

The sense of some compelling hush profound,

Some spell by which the whole vast world is bound,

Till star-crowned Night smile downward its release.

I sit and dream—midway of the long day—

Midway of the glad year—midway of life—

My whole world seems, indeed, to hold its breath:—

For me the sun stands still upon his way—

The winds for one short hour remit their strife—

Then Day, and Year, and Life whirl on toward Death.