In the heavy stillness of a July afternoon, a solitary speaker drifts on a glassy lake. Almost nothing moves—only clouds overhead and their perfect doubles in the water, along with the shadow of his boat. He stirs only now and then, breaking the trance just enough to check whether a speck on the water is a bird or to listen for any sound from the shore. Since dawn he has been here, watching cool reeds hang above their own cooler reflections. The day’s heat seems to have stopped time. He feels no urge to think; the murmuring of doves in distant leaves fills his mind with a quiet, uncomplicated contentment. The mood is one of surrendered stillness—drowsy, solitary, and deeply peaceful, as if the speaker has merged with the summer day and asks for nothing more.
July — Summary
NAUGHT moves but clouds, and in the glassy lake Their doubles and the shadow of my boat. The boat itself stirs only when I break This drowse of heat and solitude afloat To prove if what I see be bird or mote, Or learn if yet the shore woods be awake.
Long hours since dawn grew,--spread,--and passed on high And deep below,--I have watched the cool reeds hung Over images more cool in imaged sky: Nothing there was worth thinking of so long; All that the ring-doves say, far leaves among, Brims my mind with content thus still to lie.