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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=348124" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Heat</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">From plains that reel to southward, dim,<br> The road runs by me white and bare;<br> Up the steep hill it seems to swim<br> Beyond, and melt into the glare.<br> Upward half-way, or it may be<br> Nearer the summit, slowly steals<br> A hay-cart, moving dustily<br> With idly clacking wheels.<br> By his cart's side the wagoner<br> Is slouching slowly at his ease,<br> Half-hidden in the windless blur<br> Of white dust puffiing to his knees.<br> This wagon on the height above,<br> From sky to sky on either hand,<br> Is the sole thing that seems to move<br> In all the heat-held land.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Beyond me in the fields the sun<br> Soaks in the grass and hath his will;<br> I count the marguerites one by one;<br> Even the buttercups are still.<br> On the brook yonder not a breath<br> Disturbs the spider or the midge.<br> The water-bugs draw close beneath<br> The cool gloom of the bridge.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Where the far elm-tree shadows flood<br> Dark patches in the burning grass,<br> The cows, each with her peaceful cud,<br> Lie waiting for the heat to pass.<br> From somewhere on the slope near by<br> Into the pale depth of the noon<br> A wandering thrush slides leisurely<br> His thin revolving tune.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> In intervals of dreams I hear<br> The cricket from the droughty ground;<br> The grasshoppers spin into mine ear<br> A small innumerable sound.<br> I lift mine eyes sometimes to gaze:<br> The burning sky-line blinds my sight:<br> The woods far off are blue with haze:<br> The hills are drenched in light.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And yet to me not this or that<br> Is always sharp or always sweet;<br> In the sloped shadow of my hat<br> I lean at rest, and drain the heat;<br> Nay more, I think some bless&egrave;d power<br> Hath brought me wandering idly here:<br> In the full furnace of this hour<br> My thoughts grow keen and clear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Archibald+Lampman">Archibald Lampman</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=348124" data-title="Heat de Archibald Lampman" data-description="From plains that reel to southward, dim,
 The road runs by me white and bare;
 Up the steep hill it seems to swim
 Beyond, and melt into the glare.
 Upward half-way, or it may be
 Nearer the summit, slowly steals
 A hay-cart, moving dustily
 With ..."></div>
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