 | The Triangular Society |  |
179
A WET WEEK.
Rain and drizzle and fog and mist,—
Fog and darkness and rain—
Will the shadows lift from the soaking earth,
And the sun shine, ever again?
Fog and darkness and rain—
Will the shadows lift from the soaking earth,
And the sun shine, ever again?
180
Day after day after day after day
The clouds roll in and across,
As though every mariner out of port
Had murdered an albatross.
The clouds roll in and across,
As though every mariner out of port
Had murdered an albatross.
Or as though some pious granger-man,
With acres of thirsty grain,
Had prayed with too much earnestness
For the early and latter rain.
With acres of thirsty grain,
Had prayed with too much earnestness
For the early and latter rain.
For the worst that can befall a man,
Be he reckoned with saints or knaves,
—As has proved too true again and again—
Is to give him all he craves.
Be he reckoned with saints or knaves,
—As has proved too true again and again—
Is to give him all he craves.
If any one knows the blundering soul
Whose prayer was too long and wide,
Beg him to open his mouth once more,
And pray on the other side.
Whose prayer was too long and wide,
Beg him to open his mouth once more,
And pray on the other side.
Or if any one knows the fateful bird
Who has brought the fog and mist,
In spite of Coleridge, or Mr. Bergh,
Or any who would resist,—
Who has brought the fog and mist,
In spite of Coleridge, or Mr. Bergh,
Or any who would resist,—
Shoot him with rifle or good cross-bow,
Or smite him with fire and sword,
And hang him about the stubborn neck
Of the obstinate Weather Board!
Or smite him with fire and sword,
And hang him about the stubborn neck
Of the obstinate Weather Board!
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