Page:Poems Whitney.djvu/125

SIESTA.

 The old apple tree,
  Noblest on the hill—
 Takes me in its arms;
There I lie a-dreaming,
 Dreaming at my will.

 Birds and birdlings chirping,
  Think not I am there—
 While they trill wild notes,
Think not of my dreaming
 In the scented air.