William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878)

Midsummer

A power is on the earth and in the air

From which the vital spirit shrinks afraid,

And shelters him, in nooks of deepest shade,

From the hot steam and from the fiery glare.

Look forth upon the earth--her thousand plants

Are smitten; even the dark sun-loving maize

Faints in the field beneath the torrid blaze;

The herd beside the shaded fountain pants;

For life is driven from all the landscape brown;

The bird has sought his tree, the snake his den,

The trout floats dead in the hot stream, and men

Drop by the sun-stroke in the populous town;

As if the Day of Fire had dawned, and sent

Its deadly breath into the firmament.

Am I not all alone?--The world is still

In passionless slumber,--not a tree but feels

The far-pervading hush, and softer steals

The misty river by. Yon broad bare hill

Looks coldly up to heaven, and all the stars

Seem eyes deep fixed in silence, as if bound

By some unearthly spell,--no other sound

But the owl's unfrequent moan.--Their airy cars

The winds have stationed on the mountain peaks.

Am I not all alone?--A spirit speaks

From the abyss of night, "Not all alone:

Nature is round thee with her banded powers,

And ancient genius haunts thee in these hours,

Mind and its kingdom now are all thine own."