The speaker stands in punishing midday light, feeling exposed and fragile. The light beats on her like a weight, and even a split leaf crackling on the pavement makes her startle. She is anguished and defeated. Wind shakes the seed-pods, and her thoughts scatter like the black seeds spilling onto the path; they feel feverish and tear at her. Everything close to her seems withered: dust, shrivelled seeds, cracked grape leaves, blackened mint stalks. Then the view lifts toward a poplar tree on the hill. Unlike the dry debris around her, the poplar is bright, deep-rooted, and steady among stones and trees. She addresses it with awe, almost envy: it endures among the hill-stones while she perishes among the rocks. The mood is one of intense heat and inner unraveling, but also holds a distant image of calm, rooted survival she cannot reach.
Mid-Day — Summary
The light beats upon me. I am startled-- a split leaf crackles on the paved floor-- I am anguished--defeated. A slight wind shakes the seed-pods-- my thoughts are spent as the black seeds. My thoughts tear me, I dread their fever. I am scattered in its whirl. I am scattered like the hot shrivelled seeds. The shrivelled seeds are spilt on the path-- the grass bends with dust, the grape slips under its crackled leaf: yet far beyond the spent seed-pods, and the blackened stalks of mint, the poplar is bright on the hill, the poplar spreads out, deep-rooted among trees. O poplar, you are great among the hill-stones, while I perish on the path among the crevices of the rocks.