Rain

Long have we waited for the lovely rain— And now the brittle grass is growing brown; A stillness holds the silver weather-vane— And like a bloom, dust lies upon the town;— But O! I heard a peacock call at noon "Rain! Rain is coming! Rain is coming soon!"

Out in the fields the anxious cattle lowed— And drooping clover seemed to lift and stir;— A far-off whistle travelled down the road Stinging the silence—and with sudden whirr A covey of young partridges went by And vanished as blown leaves against the sky.

But on the trees the leaves are all acurl, And motionless as things beneath a spell;— The morning-glory buds will not uncurl Although the morning goes, they know full well. Out in the quiet and the clinging heat I think that I can hear the Earth's heart beat.

The little swallows swing close to the eves, An old grey dog lies panting in the shade; A pigeon flutters up and softly grieves;— A small disconsolate duck seems half-afraid, For shadows fall as at the edge of night And some great hand turns down the sun's hot light.

Upon the wind that comes with beating wings The dreadful brooding stillness blows away— The rain! The lovely rain comes down, and sings, In this strange twilight that is sweet as day! And o'er the lake where whitened waves roll in The storm god hurls his glittering javelin.