Rich heat of August sweetens 
Young apples on the boughs 
Beyond the resinous road. 
Beyond turf's dapple, drowsing. 
Cicadas bell the time 
Of year, but no tale's told 
Till the cool-throated tones 
Of the church on the hill 
Shadow their unstilled shrilling. 
As in the hand of the wind, 
The sprinkler's water-fan 
Sways lightly over flowers. 
Marigold, zinnia, lily, 
Phlox, dark primulas 
Burn in the nooning light. 
Azure's immaculate 
As candor here. A cloud 
Mimics a cherub's flight. 
The equinox seems near. 
And peace awhile, mockingly 
Lovely and grave, returns.