Classic Poem

Low sky of breathless summer afternoon!
The warm air lies
Unstirred along the grass,
Unstirred within each crevice of the loose built wall.
The ripe fruit does not fall.
Dark amber swarms of hanging butterflies
Cluster the branch like autumn leaves.
This is the summer lull,
Languid and beautiful.
A strange inertia paling the low sky,
Making light, luminous, gray the widening sea.
Stillness! No wing floats by.
No bird note slides from the motionless dry tree.
The words I write are whispered paper words.
The flowers stand waxen, stiff,
In the garden hollow.

Must a long thought end in if,
And no answer follow?
Must the mind swoon
Like this still afternoon,
Forever and forever stay suspended?

Across the distance, cutting this pale sea,
A tall white schooner swings;
Turns, till the masts are one clear line;

Leans, till the curved sails fill
And passes, urged by the steady will
Of a strong wind blowing clear,
That blows not now, not here.