Noontide Retreat of Summer As a Haunt for Meditation
Shook sudden from the bosom of the sky,
A thousand shapes, or glide athwart the dusk,
Or stalk majestic on
Deep-roused,
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Shook sudden from the bosom of the sky,
A thousand shapes, or glide athwart the dusk,
Or stalk majestic on
Deep-roused,
OH lone and lovely solitude,
Washed by the sounding sea;
Nature was in a poet's mood,
When she created thee