THE sky’s great curtains downward steal,

T

The earth’s fair company

Of trees and streams and meadows feel

A sense of privacy.

Upon the vast expanse of heat

Light-footed breezes pace;

To waves of gold they tread the wheat,

They lift the sunflower’s face.

The cruel sun is blotted out,

The west is black with rain,

The drooping leaves in mingled doubt

And hope look up again.

The weeds and grass on tiptoe stand,

A strange exultant thrill

Prepares the dazed uncertain land

For the wild tempest’s will.

The wind grows big and breathes aloud

As it runs hurrying past;

At one sharp blow the thunder-cloud

 Prev. P 27/78 next