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Duncan Campbell Scott - Mid-August
Work rating: Low

From the upland hidden,
  Where the hill is sunny
  Tawny like pure honey
  In the August heat,
Memories float unbidden
  Where the thicket serries
  Fragrant with ripe berries
  And the milk-weed sweet.

Like a prayer-mat holy
  Are the patterned mosses
  Which the twin-flower crosses
  With her flowerless vine;
In fragile melancholy
  The pallid ghost flowers hover
  As if to guard and cover
  The shadow of a shrine.

Where the pine-linnet lingered
  The pale water searches,
  The roots of gleaming birches
  Draw silver from the lake;
The ripples, liquid-fingered,
  Plucking the root-layers,
  Fairy like lute players
  Lulling music make.

O to lie here brooding
  Where the pine-tree column
  Rises dark and solemn
  To the airy lair,
Where, the day eluding,
  Night is couched dream laden,
  Like a deep witch-maiden
  Hidden in her hair.

In filmy evanescence
  Wraithlike scents assemble,
  Then dissolve and tremble
  A little until they die;
Spirits of the florescence
  Where the bees searched and tarried
  Till the blossoms all were married
  In the days before July.

Light has lost its splendour,
  Light refined and sifted,
  Cool light and dream drifted
  Ventures even where,
(Seeping silver tender)
  In the dim recesses,
  Trembling mid her tresses,
  Hides the maiden hair.

Covered with the shy-light,
  Filling in the hushes,
  Slide the tawny thrushes
  Calling to their broods,
Hoarding till the twilight
  The song that made for noon-days
  Of the amorous June days
  Preludes and interludes.

The joy that I am feeling
  Is there something in it
  Unlike the warble the linnet
  Phrases and intones?
Or is a like thought stealing
  With a rapture fine, free
  Through the happy pine tree
  Ripening her cones?

In some high existence
  In another planet
  Where their poets cannot
  Know our birds and flowers,
Does the same persistence
  Give the dreams they issue
  Something like the tissue
  Of these dreams of ours?

O to lie athinking--
  Moods and whims! I fancy
  Only necromancy
  Could the web unroll,
Only somehow linking
  Beauties that meet and mingle
  In this quiet dingle
  With the beauty of the whole.
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