THE sky is brass, the lordly sun
Looks down with a fiery eye, The shallow rivers scarcely run,
The streamlet's bed is dry.
The meadow's crust is stiff and hard, The trees have a sombre hue,
The threadbare coat of the rusty sward Needs patching with verdure anew.
Still bearing down, still staring down, The remorseless rays are cast,
And scorching hamlet and seething town Both swoon in their fiery blast.
The dust lies thick in the village road, The cattle crowd to the muddy pool,
The swarming flies high revel hold—Drowsily buzzes the village school.
Oh heavily droops the bearded grain, The summer flowers wilt and die,
And stretch their tiny stems in vain To the clouds for tears of sympathy
None come ; but the sound men ache to hear
Is the hurtling rush of the arrowy rain
Hurling its cohorts from far and near On roof-tree and window-pane.
A thousand tongues for its coming pray,
A thousand hearts for its advent long: Oh come and chase our gloom away--
Descend, and fill the land with song !
July 20, 1864.
Thank you for becoming a new follower, I will try to post more as soon as our Ozarks Cabin is completed. Simply love this Civil War Poem, how fitting as the droughts have stricken so many this year including Southern Missouri. Temps of 104, 106 102, when will it end, no rain, crops are ruined, cattle scratch the cracked ground in hopes of finding one sweet blade of grass. In spite of this life goes on, may the rain descend on us and fill the land with song.
ReplyDeleteHugs, thank you for finding me.
Just, Connie