A Summer Day

Long aisles of larches stretch away,

Mysterious, dim;

And in their branches breezes play

A solemn hymn.

Across the glades the larches fling

Their shadows, stirred

Faintly, but no bird lifts a wing,

And sings no bird.

The flecks of sunlight shift and crowd

So goldenly,

And softly faints the last thin cloud

From the blue sky.