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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=386601" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The idlers</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The sun's red pulses beat, <br>Full prodigal of heat, <br>Full lavish of its lustre unrepressed; <br>But we have drifted far <br>From where his kisses are, <br>And in this landward-lying shade we let our paddles rest. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The river, deep and still, <br>The maple-mantled hill, <br>The little yellow beach whereon we lie, <br>The puffs of heated breeze, <br>All sweetly whisper--These <br>Are days that only come in a Canadian July. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">So, silently we two <br>Lounge in our still canoe, <br>Nor fate, nor fortune matters to us now: <br>So long as we alone <br>May call this dream our own, <br>The breeze may die, the sail may droop, we care not when or how. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Against the thwart, near by, <br>Inactively you lie, <br>And all too near my arm your temple bends. <br>Your indolently crude, <br>Abandoned attitude, <br>Is one of ease and art, in which a perfect languor blends. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Your costume, loose and light, <br>Leaves unconcealed your might <br>Of muscle, half suspected, half defined; <br>And falling well aside, <br>Your vesture opens wide, <br>Above your splendid sunburnt throat that pulses unconfined. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">With easy unreserve, <br>Across the gunwale's curve, <br>Your arm superb is lying, brown and bare; <br>Your hand just touches mine <br>With import firm and fine, <br>(I kiss the very wind that blows about your tumbled hair). </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah! Dear, I am unwise <br>In echoing your eyes <br>Whene'er they leave their far-off gaze, and turn <br>To melt and blur my sight; <br>For every other light <br>Is servile to your cloud-grey eyes, wherein cloud shadows burn. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But once the silence breaks, <br>But once your ardour wakes <br>To words that humanize this lotus-land; <br>So perfect and complete <br>Those burning words and sweet, <br>So perfect is the single kiss your lips lay on my hand. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The paddles lie disused, <br>The fitful breeze abused, <br>Has dropped to slumber, with no after-blow; <br>And hearts will pay the cost, <br>For you and I have lost <br>More than the homeward blowing wind that died an hour ago.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Emily+Pauline+Johnson">Emily Pauline Johnson</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=386601" data-title="The idlers de Emily Pauline Johnson" data-description="The sun's red pulses beat, 
Full prodigal of heat, 
Full lavish of its lustre unrepressed; 
But we have drifted far 
From where his kisses are, 
And in this landward-lying shade we let our paddles rest. 

The river, deep and still, 
The maple-mant..."></div>
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