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Midsummer Poem

ISSUE:  Autumn 1955

Hard as a man’s in a vineyard
The feet of the sun are trampling
The meadows, pressing the fields. Silence
Dances. Fragrance blazes. Noonward
A fresh sweetness
                                     beats up from the deep heat.
Whitest clouds hugely
                                                   carve heaven out of the sky.
At a shadow’s prick some bird
From a viewless bough
                                                             arrows, is lost to view
Among thicker boughs: it is fright’s gift
To the festival of noon.
                    renews the dance.
                                                                     Perhaps the grave
Pines, late, in their darkening grove
Will interpret it.


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