poem

A Summer Afternoon — Aug 14, 2026

James Whitcomb Riley

1 votes
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A languid atmosphere, a lazy breeze,
With labored respiration, moves the wheat
From distant reaches, till the golden seas
Break in crisp whispers at my feet.

My book, neglected of an idle mind,
Hides for a moment from the eyes of men;
Or lightly opened by a critic wind,
Affrightedly reviews itself again.

Off through the haze that dances in the shine
The warm sun showers in the open glade,
The forest lies, a silhouette design
Dimmed through and through with shade.

A dreamy day; and tranquilly I lie
At anchor from all storms of mental strain;
With absent vision, gazing at the sky,
"Like one that hears it rain."

The Katydid, so boisterous last night,
Clinging, inverted, in uneasy poise,
Beneath a wheat-blade, has forgotten quite
If "Katy DID or DIDN'T" make a noise.

The twitter, sometimes, of a wayward bird
That checks the song abruptly at the sound,
And mildly, chiding echoes that have stirred,
Sink into silence, all the more profound.

And drowsily I hear the plaintive strain
Of some poor dove . . . Why, I can scarcely keep
My heavy eyelids--there it is again--
"Coo-coo!"--I mustn't--"Coo-coo!"--fall asleep!

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📖 About this poem

Riley's "A Summer Afternoon" is a small study in stillness, the kind of poem that doesn't so much narrate an afternoon as fall asleep inside one. The speaker lies in a field with an unread book, watching heat shimmer over wheat and forest, and the poem's own energy drains along with his attention. Notice how the rhythm mimics that drowsiness: the quatrains keep a loose, breathing meter, shortened at the end of each stanza like a sigh. The images are gentle and exact — wheat breaking "in crisp whispers," a katydid clinging upside down, forgetting its own racket from the night before. That wink of humor keeps the poem from turning precious. By the end, the dove's "Coo-coo" interrupts the speaker mid-thought, and the poem simply lets him drift off. It still works today because it asks for nothing but attention to ordinary quiet, a rare and welcome invitation.

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