Poetry Archives

The moon begins her stately ride
  Across the summer sky;
The happy wavelets lash the shore,—
  The tide is rising high.

Beneath some friendly blade of grass
  The lazy beetle cowers;
The coffers of the air are filled
  With offerings from the flowers.

And slowly buzzing o’er my head
  A swallow wings her flight;
I hear the weary plowman sing
  As falls the restful night.