Already in the dew-wrapped vineyards dry br Dense weights of heat press down. The large bright drops br Shrink in the leaves. From dark acacia tops br The nuthatch flings his short reiterate cry; br And ever as the sun mounts hot and high br Thin voices crowd the grass. In soft long strokes br The wind goes murmuring through the mountain oaks. br Faint wefts creep out along the blue and die. br I hear far in among the motionless trees-- br Shadows that sleep upon the shaven sod-- br The thud of dropping apples. Reach on reach br Stretch plots of perfumed orchard, where the bees br Murmur among the full-fringed golden-rod, br Or cling half-drunken to the rotting peach.