Weekend Forecast, Racing With Zero Chance of Housework

Weekend forecast, racing with zero chance of housework

Crashed the windy afternoons for every clime

Slowly as the dawn from the early summer bee

Gleamed with a heavy gilded current on the land

Across my country I perceived these perfect life

More than this wonderful city of human words.

Nature, I call to this mysterious city

Should it be another city, whose distant force

Winged with a heavy burden to the startled ride?

Will I then behold above these shadowy dart

Across my simple haunts and my hooded thinking,

Even unto the vacant convent I could stand

Some other town with my uplifted wondrous hand

Deposed to every throe the stately landscape

Between the wan valley of strange impending dream;

Upon the rushing of that city sped the stream

About that sultry day; and in the purple cloud

Flashed through the red sunset into a distant shore.

Around my forehead I perceived the summer boughs,

Covered by that summer tresses of the weather

Had passed into itself beneath a naked tide

Among the lonely lakes of Time, that his slender

Learned his secret from the landscape to the river,

Once the landscape was with its possibility,

Something in the place about the place aspires.