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Show Noon in a Garden. The roses hang in clusters on the walls; Warm, sun-distilled, their heavy scent enthralls The dizzy Noon: She pauses, high in air And droops her golden pinions, swooning swoon-ing there. Abandoned unto this brief ecstasy, Lulled unto the song of humming bird and bee, She cares not that the vagrant clouds pursue, Nor heeds at all her shadowy retinue. This hour is hers; the garden's all aglow: The roses whisper, bending to and fro, Bright swarms of butterflies, a painted maze, Hover about her in the golden haze. Enamored of rich color and perfume, She merrily alights amid the bloom: Upon a bank her sheaf of sunbeams - flings. And cools in fragrant chalices her wings. The bright bacchante of the hours, she . flies From flower to flower and drains the I sweet supplies: Grown mad with nectar, her hot lips drink up New rapture from each brimming fairy cup. The long pale arms of afternoon await k To bear her westward, but intoxicate She lingers; then at last with burning breath Reels down all passion-spent unto her death. --The Forum. |