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Poem by Lizette Woodworth Reese


No wind, no bird. The river flames like brass.
On either side, smitten as with a spell
Of silence, brood the fields. In the deep grass,
Edging the dusty roads, lie as they fell
Handfuls of shriveled leaves from tree and bush.
But long the orchard fence and at the gate,
Thrusting their saffron torches through the hush,
Wild lilies blaze, and bees hum soon and late.
Rust-colored the tall straggling briar, not one
Rose left. The spider sets its loom up there
Close to the roots, and spins out in the sun
A silken web from twig to twig. The air
Is full of hot rank scents. Upon the hill
Drifts the noons single cloud, white, glaring, still.

Lizette Woodworth Reese

Lizette Woodworth Reese's other poems:
  1. Wise
  2. A Song for Candlemas
  3. Mid-March
  4. Trust
  5. Herbs

Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • Algernon Swinburne August ("THERE WERE four apples on the bough")
  • Madison Cawein August ("Clad on with glowing beauty and the peace")
  • John Payne August ("AUGUST, thou monarch of the mellow noon")
  • Elinor Wylie August ("Why should this Negro insolently stride")

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