Noguchi imagines July in Japan as a trance-like, humid dream. The sunset is not a bright blaze but a ghostly white glow, and the day hangs in the air like a twilight perfume too heavy to drift away. That sense of stillness and heat makes the whole month feel suspended, almost unreal. Speaking to Japan directly, the poet can only exclaim at its “art of dream untold,” as if the place resists ordinary description.
Then the image widens across the Pacific: Japan becomes a lantern swaying in warm “love-air,” moved by a pain that turns into song. The feeling is tender and a little melancholy—beauty, distance, and longing all blur together. It leaves a mood of hushed wonder, as though we are watching a luminous island from far off, half-seen in summer haze.