Noon! and in the garden bower <br />The hot air quivers o’er the grass, <br />The little lake is smooth as glass <br />And still so heavily the hour <br />Drags, that scarce the proudest flower <br />Pressed upon its burning bed <br />Has strength to lift a languid head: <br />—Rose and fainting violet <br />By the water’s margin set <br />Swoon and sink as they were dead <br />Though their weary leaves be fed <br />With the foam-drops of the pool <br />Where it trembles dark and cool <br />Wrinkled by the fountain spraying <br />O’er it. And the honey-bee <br />Hums his drowsy melody <br />And wanders in his course a-straying <br />Through the sweet and tangled glade <br />With his golden mead o’erladen, <br />Where beneath the pleasant shade <br />Of the darkling boughs a maiden <br />—Milky limb and fiery tress, <br />All at sweetest random laid— <br />Slumbers, drunken with the excess <br />Of the noontide’s loveliness.<br /><br />Clive Staples Lewis<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/noon-15/
