At Utter Loaf.

I.         An afternoon as ripe with heat             As might the golden pippin be         With mellowness if at my feet             It dropped now from the apple-tree             My hammock swings in lazily.         II.         The boughs about me spread a shade             That shields me from the sun, but weaves             With breezy shuttles through the leaves         Blue rifts of skies, to gleam and fade             Upon the eyes that only see             Just of themselves, all drowsily.         III.         Above me drifts the fallen skein             Of some tired spider, looped and blown,         As fragile as a strand of rain,             Across the air, and upward thrown             By breaths of hayfields newly mown -         So glimmering it is and fine,             I doubt these drowsy eyes of mine.         IV.         Far-off and faint as voices pent             In mines, and heard from underground,         Come murmurs as of discontent,             And clamorings of sullen sound         The city sends me, as, I guess,         To vex me, though they do but bless         Me in my drowsy fastnesses.         V.         I have no care.    I only know             My hammock hides and holds me here             In lands of shade a prisoner:         While lazily the breezes blow             Light leaves of sunshine over me,         And back and forth and to and fro             I swing, enwrapped in some hushed glee,             Smiling at all things drowsily.