By George Sterling

Noon has her drowsy kingdom in the sky.
    The valley holds forever, like a shell,
    An ocean-murmur, and about my dell
The pines wait dreaming, too content to sigh.
Silence has half her will, nor would I try
    Another's: here a waif unsought I dwell
    On whom a rainbow-land has laid her spell,—
In whom recorded memories fade or die.

Linger, O day! for at thy heart is peace;
Thine azure holds no question; ere thou cease,
    To be and to be glad is to have done.
    Pause in the breathless temple of thy noon,
    Ere yet I drink enchantment from .the moon
    And watch love's star above the sunken sun!

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