TWELVE.
Ha, ha; and oh, ho; ding-dong, and pell-mell!
What with girls and with boys out of school, and the bell,
And the hurry of workmen from labor set free,
And the meeting, and greeting, 'tis a great jubilee!
Now lies the still, bright noon upon the fields,
When the green leaves hang moveless in the sun;
Even the clover sweet no perfume yields,
And every fragrance faints beneath the noon.
Yet is there something glorious in this same
Meridian quiet, as if pausing here
The god of day looked back the way he came,
And proudly mused upon his high career;
While gathering up his strength to take again
His tireless pilgrimage o'er heaven's plain.
Noon in the country! you can hear the shrill
Cries of the cricket in the parching grass;
With babble of some almost famished rill,
Inviting you to tarry ere you pass;
And noisy katy-did, that lies perdue
Beneath some broad green leaf beside the way
Striving to tempt you to an interview,
And make you ask what katy did that day:
The little stir of insect life alone,
Breaking the lazy silence of the noon.
ONE.
Wends the lab'rer to his toil once more;
Hies the care-bound merchant to his desk;
Turns the student to his weary lore;
Lags the dreading urchin to his task.
Only half of the long day is spent,
Yet you languish for the distant close;
