Still as a fly in amber, hangs the world In a transparent sphere of golden hours, With not enough of life in all the air To stir the shadows or to move the flowers; And in the halo broods the angel Sleep, Wooed from the bosom of the midnight deep By her sweet sister Silence, wed to Noon. II. Held in a soft suspense of summer light, The generous fields with all their bloom of wealth Bask in a dream of Plenty for the years, And breathe the languor of untroubled Health. Without a ripple stands the yellow wheat, Like the Broad Seal of God upon the sheet Where Labor's signature appeareth soon. III. As printed staves of thankful Nature's hymn, The fence of rails a soothing grace devotes, With clinging vines for bass and treble cleffs And wrens and robins here and there for notes; Spread out in bars, at equal distance met, As though the whole bright summer scene were set To the unuttered melody of Rest! IV. Along the hill in light voluptuous wrapt The daisy droops amid the staring grass, And on the plain the rose and lily wait For Flora's whispers, that no longer pass; While in the shade the violet of blue Finds in the stillness reigning nature through, That which her gentle modesty loves best. V. The mill-wheel motionless o'ershades the pool, In whose frail crystal cups its circle dips; The stream, slow curling, wanders in the sun And drains his kisses with its silver lips; The birch canoe upon its shadow lies, The pike's last bubble on the water dies, The water lily sleeps upon her glass. VI. Here let me linger, in that waking sleep Whose dreams are all untinged with haunting dread Of Morning's finger on the eyelids pressed, To rouse the soul and leave the vision dead. And while deep sunk in this soft ecstasy I count the pulse of Heaven dreamily, Let all life's bitterness behind me pass! VII. How still each leaf of my oak canopy, That holds a forest syllable at heart, Yet cannot stir enough in all its veins To give the murmured woodland sentence start! So still--so still all nature far and near, As though the world had checked its breath to hear An angel's message from the distant skies! VIII. This one last glance at earth--one, only one-- To see, as through a vail, the gentle face Bent o'er me softly, with the timid love That half distrusts the sleep which gives it grace. The thought that bids mine eyelids half unclose Fades to a dream, and out from Summer goes, In the brown Autumn of her drooping eyes.