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James Whitcomb Riley - At Utter Loaf
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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.
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