In blatant light the grasses look
Like bronzen swords of green,
The hillock-tops simmer and smoke,
The stark road thrusts between.
No mild opacity of cloud
Transmutes the harshness, where
Like stars of newly spattered blood
Kempt cottage flowers stare.
A blast of Hell gets up to flout
The sharp metallic trees,
And hungry insects haste about
Their cruel purposes.
_D. E. A. WALLACE_
(_SOMERVILLE_)