The Locust Gyres; The Heat Intensifies' The Rain-Crow Croaks From Hot-Leafed Tree To Tree: The Butterfly, A Flame-Fleck, Aimlessly Droops Down The Air And Knows Not Where It Flies. Beside The Stream, Whose Bed In Places The Small Green Heron Flaps; The Minnows Flee: And Mid The Blackberry-Lilies, Wasp And Bee Drowse Where The Cattle Pant With Half-Closed Eyes. The Summer Day, Like Some Tired Labourer, Lays Down Her Burden Here And Sinks To Rest, The Tan Of Toil Upon Her Face And Hands: She Dreams, And Lo, The Heavens Over Her Unfold Her Dream: Along The Boundless West Rolls Gold The Harvest Of The Sunset'S Lands.