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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=416536" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Summer Afternoon</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">A languid atmosphere, a lazy breeze,<br>With labored respiration, moves the wheat<br>From distant reaches, till the golden seas<br>Break in crisp whispers at my feet.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My book, neglected of an idle mind,<br>Hides for a moment from the eyes of men;<br>Or lightly opened by a critic wind,<br>Affrightedly reviews itself again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Off through the haze that dances in the shine<br>The warm sun showers in the open glade,<br>The forest lies, a silhouette design<br>Dimmed through and through with shade.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A dreamy day; and tranquilly I lie<br>At anchor from all storms of mental strain;<br>With absent vision, gazing at the sky,<br>&quot;Like one that hears it rain.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Katydid, so boisterous last night,<br>Clinging, inverted, in uneasy poise,<br>Beneath a wheat-blade, has forgotten quite<br>If &quot;Katy DID or DIDN'T&quot; make a noise.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The twitter, sometimes, of a wayward bird<br>That checks the song abruptly at the sound,<br>And mildly, chiding echoes that have stirred,<br>Sink into silence, all the more profound.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And drowsily I hear the plaintive strain<br>Of some poor dove . . . Why, I can scarcely keep<br>My heavy eyelids--there it is again--<br>&quot;Coo-coo!&quot;--I mustn't--&quot;Coo-coo!&quot;--fall asleep!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=James+Whitcomb+Riley">James Whitcomb Riley</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=416536" data-title="A Summer Afternoon de James Whitcomb Riley" data-description="A languid atmosphere, a lazy breeze,
With labored respiration, moves the wheat
From distant reaches, till the golden seas
Break in crisp whispers at my feet.

My book, neglected of an idle mind,
Hides for a moment from the eyes of men;
Or lightly ..."></div>
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