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NO HOPE, no change! The clouds have shut us in, And through the cloud the sullen Sun strikes down Full on the bosom of the tortured Town, Till Night falls heavy as remembered sin That will not suffer sleep or thought of ease, And, hour on hour, the dry-eyed Moon in spite Glares through the haze and mocks with watery light The torment of the uncomplaining trees. Far off, the Thunder bellows her despair To echoing Earth, thrice parched. The lightnings fly In vain. No help the heaped-up clouds afford, But wearier weight of burdened, burning air. What truce with Dawn? Look, from the aching sky, Day stalks, a tyrant with a flaming sword!
SEPTEMBER
AT DAWN there was a murmur in the trees. |