在这里你会发现的PoemIn Augustof poet Katharine Lee Bates
BESIDE the country road with truant grace Wild carrot lifts its circles of white lace. From vines whose interwoven branches drape The old stone walls, come pungent scents of grape. The sumach torches burn; the hardhack glows; From off the pines a healing fragrance blows; The pallid Indian pipe of ghostly kin Listens in vain for stealthy moccasin. In pensive mood a faded robin sings; A butterfly with dusky, gold-flecked wings Holds court for plumy dandelion seed And thistledown, on throne of fireweed. The road goes loitering on, till it hath missed Its way in goldenrod, to keep a tryst, Beyond the mosses and the ferns that veil The last faint lines of its forgotten trail, With Lonely Lake, so crystal clear that one May see its bottom sparkling in the sun With many-colored stones. The only stir On its green banks is of the kingfisher Dipping for prey, but oft, these haunted nights, That mirror shivers into dazzling lights, Cleft by a falling star, a messenger From some bright battle lost, Excalibur.
