54730: July

<p dir="ltr"> Naught moves but clouds, and in the glassy lake<br> Their doubles and the shadow of my boat.<br> The boat itself stirs only when I break<br> This drowse of heat and solitude afloat<br> To prove if what I see be bird or mote,<br> Or learn if yet the shore woods be awake.<br> Long hours since dawn grew,---spread,---and passed on high<br> And deep below,---I have watched the cool reeds hung<br> Over images more cool in imaged sky:<br> Nothing there was worth thinking of so long;<br> All that the ring-doves say, far leaves among,<br> Brims my mind with content thus still to lie.<br></p>