Noon. Sophie M. (Almon) Hensley 1866 – 1913 No ripple stirs the water, No song-bird wakes the grove, Calm noon-tide sways his sceptre, And hushes even love.
On earth the sun-god bending Poureth his wondrous store; The soft-tongued tide, advancing, Laps the unconscious shore.
The long, low isle of marsh-land Stretches in weary waste, By sloping sand-banks guarded, By winding weeds embraced.
Comes clearly from the open The splash of distant oars, - Over the rocky headland The snow-white sea-gull soars.
I see as if through dream-clouds, I hear from far away. The scorched air breathes its opiate, The drowsy fancies stay;
I have no hopes or longings, I scarce can feel your kiss, - For thought, and joy and worship, Another hour than this!

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