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James Thomson - A Summer Noon
Work rating: Medium

`Tis raging noon; and, vertical, the sun
Darts on the head direct his forceful rays.
O`er heaven and earth, far as the ranging eye
Can sweep, a dazzling deluge reigns; and all
From pole to pole is undistinguish`d blaze.
In vain the sight, dejected, to the ground
Stoops for relief; thence hot ascending steams
And keen reflection pain. Deep to the root
Of vegetation parch`d, the cleaving fields
And slippery lawn an arid hue disclose,
Blast fancy`s bloom, and wither even the soul.
Echo no more returns the cheerful sound
Of sharpening scythe: the mower sinking, heaps
O`er him the humid hay, with flowers perfumed;
And scarce a chirping grasshopper is heard
Through the dumb mead. Distressful nature pants.
The very streams look languid from afar: 
Or, through th` unshelter`d glad, impatient, seem
To hurl into the covert of the grove.
All-conquering heat, oh, intermit thy wrath,
And on my throbbing temples potent thus
Beam not so fierce! incessant still you flow,
And still another fervent flood succeeds,
Pour`d on the head profuse. In vain I sigh,
And restless turn, and look around for night;
Night is far off, and hotter hours approach.
Thrice happy he! who on the sunless side
Of a romantic mountain, forest-crown`d, 
Beneath the whole collected shade reclines:
Or in the gelid caverns, woodbine-wrought,
And fresh bedew`d with ever sprouting streams,
Sits coolly calm; while all the world without,
Unsatisfied and sick, tosses in noon.
Emblem instructive of the virtuous ma,
Who keeps his temper`d mind serene and pure
And every passion aptly harmonised,
Amid a jarring world with vice inflamed.
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