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23
A SUMMER STORM.
A sigh seems by awakening Nature heaved—A sigh that passes on from tree to tree,
And misses not a single blade of grass
In yonder fields. The greyish olive-trees
Turn white as if by magic, and appear
Endowed with life. The aspens by the stream
Become a silver ripple, and the stream
Itself is backward brushed by hand unseen
And rapid; while the few dead leaves upon
The road are suddenly caught up
And whirl. And then a sound which is this time
Not Nature's sigh, but Nature's hiss, runs through
The valley, and the tallest trees are bent
Like wands. Then, Earth, thy chastisement begins.
And angry Heaven's cruel lash of rain
Falls on thy hilly shoulders. To the storm
All quickly yields: the light-green rising corn
Is beaten down and lies in clotted sheaves;
The vines which lately were in garlands hung
Between the poplars, are torn off, and stream
High in the wind. But a few moments more,
24
But there is calm; and men can look abroad,
And through the rain see sunlight on the hills.
No sound is heard around, save the dull roar
Of the augmented stream, until the note
Of some impatient bird strikes on the ear,
From dripping boughs.
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