Noon! and in the garden bower
The hot air quivers o-er the grass,
The little lake is smooth as glass
And still so heavily the hour
Drags, that scarce the proudest flower
Pressed upon its burning bed
Has strength to lift a languid head:
-Rose and fainting violet
By the water-s margin set
Swoon and sink as they were dead
Though their weary leaves be fed
With the foam-drops of the pool
Where it trembles dark and cool
Wrinkled by the fountain spraying
O-er it. And the honey-bee
Hums his drowsy melody
And wanders in his course a-straying
Through the sweet and tangled glade
With his golden mead o-erladen,
Where beneath the pleasant shade
Of the darkling boughs a maiden
-Milky limb and fiery tress,
All at sweetest random laid-
Slumbers, drunken with the excess
Of the noontide-s loveliness.