 | A little book of tribune verse |  |
174
THE DROUTH.
The meads are parched, the earth is hot,
The sun is blazing in the sky,
The brooks that babbled once are dry,
Dead are the flowers, or drooping sick,
The fragrant flowers we loved to pick,
The pansy and forget-me-not.
The sun is blazing in the sky,
The brooks that babbled once are dry,
Dead are the flowers, or drooping sick,
The fragrant flowers we loved to pick,
The pansy and forget-me-not.
The kine are panting in the glade,
The cowboy sweats in angry mood,
Because his flocks can find no food;
The lambs in helpless misery
Loll on the baked and dusty lea,
And vainly pine for drink and shade.
The cowboy sweats in angry mood,
Because his flocks can find no food;
The lambs in helpless misery
Loll on the baked and dusty lea,
And vainly pine for drink and shade.
And in this city, once our pride,
We see what ne'er before was seen,
Our trees no longer fresh and green
The grass is withered up and dead,
And by the fire which burns o'erhead,
Each irrigating ditch is dried.
We see what ne'er before was seen,
Our trees no longer fresh and green
The grass is withered up and dead,
And by the fire which burns o'erhead,
Each irrigating ditch is dried.
Boreas, from thy arctic cave,
Blow up a cool, refreshing gale!
Bring Zephyrus and Hesp'rus, too,
Each bearing hail and rain and dew,
The liquid element we crave.
Blow up a cool, refreshing gale!
Bring Zephyrus and Hesp'rus, too,
Each bearing hail and rain and dew,
The liquid element we crave.
175
Or else this Colorado plain,
Once green with verdure will be turned
Into a desert, bleached and burned;
This fairy portal to the hills,
Once watered by a thousand rills,
Will fade away through dearth of rain!
Once green with verdure will be turned
Into a desert, bleached and burned;
This fairy portal to the hills,
Once watered by a thousand rills,
Will fade away through dearth of rain!
January 10th, 1882.
| A little book of tribune verse | |