Ir was mid-noon. From their meridian source
The fervid beams basked on the thirsty soil,
Not satiate scarcely cooled, by that rich flood,
Which Heaven, relenting, from His reservoirs,
And skyey fountains, had so late dispensed
Upon the drought-struck land. Thrice had the sun
Traversed his circling course zodîacal
Along the unmoistening heavens; and well-nigh half
A fourth had been achieved: spring's tender blooms,
The summer's fervors, autumn's tempered glow,
And winter's rigors,-all rolled round; and still
No genial cloud poured forth its humid stores;
No kindly dews, morning or evening, shed
Their distillation soft on herb and flower: