Iv

Where is the rain? We hear The footsteps of the rain, Walking in dust, and, near, Dull thunders over the plain.

Cloud?—dust. The wind awakes; The base dust we have trod Smokes up to heaven and takes The thunderings of God.

No rain. The angry dust Cries out against the rain; The clouds are backward thrust; The monstrous Sun again.

We hoped the rain would fall After the dreadful day, For we heard the thunders call Each other far away.

We hoped for rain because After thunder rain is given; And yet it only was The mockery of heaven.

He is the lord of us; He will unconquered sink, Red, but victorious, And smoking to the brink.

Shout, barren thunders, shout And rattle and melt again! So fall the fates about, So melt the hopes of men.

Rattle aloft and wake The sleepers on the roofs, Wild steeds of heav’n, and shake Heav’n with your echoing hoofs.

Awake the weary at night Until they cry, “The rain!”— Then take to tempestuous flight And melt into air again.