 | Art and Poetry: Being Thoughts Towards Nature [The Germ
Number Three] |  |
II. In Summer.
How the rooks caw, and their beaks seem to clank!
Let us just move out there, — (it might be cool
Under those trees,) and watch how the thick tank
By the old mill is black, — a stagnant pool
Of rot and insects. There goes by a lank
Dead hairy dog floating. Will Nature's rule
Of life return hither no more? The plank
Rots in the crushed weeds, and the sun is cruel.
Let us just move out there, — (it might be cool
Under those trees,) and watch how the thick tank
By the old mill is black, — a stagnant pool
Of rot and insects. There goes by a lank
Dead hairy dog floating. Will Nature's rule
Of life return hither no more? The plank
Rots in the crushed weeds, and the sun is cruel.
| Art and Poetry: Being Thoughts Towards Nature [The Germ
Number Three] | |