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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=538024" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Noon</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">FROM AN UNFINISHED POEM. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>'Tis noon. At noon the Hebrew bowed the knee<br>And worshipped, while the husbandmen withdrew<br>From the scorched field, and the wayfaring man<br>Grew faint, and turned aside by bubbling fount,<br>Or rested in the shadow of the palm.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I, too, amid the overflow of day,<br>Behold the power which wields and cherishes<br>The frame of Nature. From this brow of rock<br>That overlooks the Hudson's western marge,<br>I gaze upon the long array of groves,<br>The piles and gulfs of verdure drinking in<br>The grateful heats. They love the fiery sun;<br>Their broadening leaves grow glossier, and their sprays<br>Climb as he looks upon them. In the midst,<br>The swelling river, into his green gulfs,<br>Unshadowed save by passing sails above,<br>Takes the redundant glory, and enjoys<br>The summer in his chilly bed. Coy flowers,<br>That would not open in the early light,<br>Push back their plaited sheaths. The rivulet's pool,<br>That darkly quivered all the morning long<br>In the cool shade, now glimmers in the sun;<br>And o'er its surface shoots, and shoots again,<br>The glittering dragon-fly, and deep within<br>Run the brown water-beetles to and fro.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A silence, the brief sabbath of an hour,<br>Reigns o'er the fields; the laborer sits within<br>His dwelling; he has left his steers awhile,<br>Unyoked, to bite the herbage, and his dog<br>Sleeps stretched beside the door-stone in the shade.<br>Now the grey marmot, with uplifted paws,<br>No more sits listening by his den, but steals<br>Abroad, in safety, to the clover field,<br>And crops its juicy blossoms. All the while<br>A ceaseless murmur from the populous town<br>Swells o'er these solitudes: a mingled sound<br>Of jarring wheels, and iron hoofs that clash<br>Upon the stony ways, and hammer-clang,<br>And creak of engines lifting ponderous bulks,<br>And calls and cries, and tread of eager feet,<br>Innumerable, hurrying to and fro.<br>Noon, in that mighty mart of nations, brings<br>No pause to toil and care. With early day<br>Began the tumult, and shall only cease<br>When midnight, hushing one by one the sounds<br>Of bustle, gathers the tired brood to rest.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thus, in this feverish time, when love of gain<br>And luxury possess the hearts of men,<br>Thus is it with the noon of human life.<br>We, in our fervid manhood, in our strength<br>Of reason, we, with hurry, noise, and care,<br>Plan, toil, and strife, and pause not to refresh<br>Our spirits with the calm and beautiful<br>Of God's harmonious universe, that won<br>Our youthful wonder; pause not to inquire<br>Why we are here; and what the reverence<br>Man owes to man, and what the mystery<br>That links us to the greater world, beside<br>Whose borders we but hover for a space.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Cullen+Bryant">William Cullen Bryant</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=538024" data-title="Noon de William Cullen Bryant" data-description="FROM AN UNFINISHED POEM. 


'Tis noon. At noon the Hebrew bowed the knee
And worshipped, while the husbandmen withdrew
From the scorched field, and the wayfaring man
Grew faint, and turned aside by bubbling fount,
Or rested in the shadow of the pa..."></div>
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