July
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AUGHT moves but clouds, and in the glassy lakeTheir doubles and the shadow of my boat.The boat itself stirs only when I breakThis drowse of heat and solitude afloatTo prove if what I see be bird or mote,Or learn if yet the shore woods be awake. Long hours since dawn grew,--spread,--and passed on highAnd deep below,--I have watched the cool reeds hungOver images more cool in imaged sky:Nothing there was worth thinking of so long;All that the ring-doves say, far leaves among,Brims my mind with content thus still to lie.
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