August noon
Rustled her train , yet no spangles were there . But high on her brow , still shone her pale crescent ; haloed by bandelets -- violet , red , and yellow . So looked the lone watcher through her rainbow-iris ; so sad , the night without stars . The winds were laid ; the lagoon , still , as a prairie of an August noon . `` Let us dream out the calm , '' said Media . `` One of ye paddlers , watch : Ho companions ! who 's for Cathay ? ''