Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,
Murmur'd like a noontide bee,
'Shall I nestle near thy side?
Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,
Murmur'd like a noontide bee,
'Shall I nestle near thy side?
There is emotion
In all that dwells at noontide here;
Then through the intricate wild wood
A maze of life and light and motion
Is woven.
On this June day the buds in my garden are almost as enchanting as the open flowers. Things in bud bring, in the heat of a June noontide, the recollection of the loveliest days of the year those days of May when all is suggested, nothing yet fulfilled.
With grave Aspect he rose, and in his rising seem'd A pillar of state deep on his front engraven Deliberation sat, and public care And princely counsel in his face yet shone, Majestic though in ruin sage he stood, With Atlantean shoulders, fit to bear The weight of mightiest monarchies his look Drew audience and attention still as night Or summer's noontide air.
Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours,
Makes the night morning and the noontide night.
We plant, upon the sunny lea,A shadow for the noontide hour,A shelter from the summer shower,When we plant the apple-tree.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories