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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=373435" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Mid-August</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">From the upland hidden,<br>Where the hill is sunny<br>Tawny like pure honey<br>In the August heat,<br>Memories float unbidden<br>Where the thicket serries<br>Fragrant with ripe berries<br>And the milk-weed sweet.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Like a prayer-mat holy<br>Are the patterned mosses<br>Which the twin-flower crosses<br>With her flowerless vine;<br>In fragile melancholy<br>The pallid ghost flowers hover<br>As if to guard and cover<br>The shadow of a shrine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where the pine-linnet lingered<br>The pale water searches,<br>The roots of gleaming birches<br>Draw silver from the lake;<br>The ripples, liquid-fingered,<br>Plucking the root-layers,<br>Fairy like lute players<br>Lulling music make.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O to lie here brooding<br>Where the pine-tree column<br>Rises dark and solemn<br>To the airy lair,<br>Where, the day eluding,<br>Night is couched dream laden,<br>Like a deep witch-maiden<br>Hidden in her hair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In filmy evanescence<br>Wraithlike scents assemble,<br>Then dissolve and tremble<br>A little until they die;<br>Spirits of the florescence<br>Where the bees searched and tarried<br>Till the blossoms all were married<br>In the days before July.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Light has lost its splendour,<br>Light refined and sifted,<br>Cool light and dream drifted<br>Ventures even where,<br>(Seeping silver tender)<br>In the dim recesses,<br>Trembling mid her tresses,<br>Hides the maiden hair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Covered with the shy-light,<br>Filling in the hushes,<br>Slide the tawny thrushes<br>Calling to their broods,<br>Hoarding till the twilight<br>The song that made for noon-days<br>Of the amorous June days<br>Preludes and interludes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The joy that I am feeling<br>Is there something in it<br>Unlike the warble the linnet<br>Phrases and intones?<br>Or is a like thought stealing<br>With a rapture fine, free<br>Through the happy pine tree<br>Ripening her cones?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In some high existence<br>In another planet<br>Where their poets cannot<br>Know our birds and flowers,<br>Does the same persistence<br>Give the dreams they issue<br>Something like the tissue<br>Of these dreams of ours?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O to lie athinking--<br>Moods and whims! I fancy<br>Only necromancy<br>Could the web unroll,<br>Only somehow linking<br>Beauties that meet and mingle<br>In this quiet dingle<br>With the beauty of the whole.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Duncan+Campbell+Scott">Duncan Campbell Scott</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=373435" data-title="Mid-August de Duncan Campbell Scott" data-description="From the upland hidden,
Where the hill is sunny
Tawny like pure honey
In the August heat,
Memories float unbidden
Where the thicket serries
Fragrant with ripe berries
And the milk-weed sweet.

Like a prayer-mat holy
Are the patterned mosses
Which ..."></div>
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