Whence comest thou, shady lane? and why and how?
Thou, where with idle heart ten years ago
I wandered and with childhood's paces slow,
So long unthought of, and remembered now.
Again in vision clear thy pathwayed side
I tread, and view thy orchard plots again
With yellow fruitage hung,--and glimmering grain
Standing or shocked through the thick hedge espied.
This hot still noon of August brings the sight;
This quelling silence as of eve or night,
Wherein earth (feeling as a mother will
After her travail's latest bitterest throes)
Looks up, so seemeth it one half repose,
One half in effort, straining, suffering still.