The world was waiting for the thunder’s birth,
To-day, and cloud was piled on sullen cloud:
Then strong, and straight, and clean, and cool, and loud
The rain came down, and drenched the stifling earth.
The heavy clouds have lifted and rolled by;
The riotous wet leaves with music ring,
And now the nightingale begins to sing,
And tender as a rose-leaf is the sky.
I wonder if some day this stifling care
That weighs upon my heart will fall in showers?
I wonder if the hot and heavy hours
Will roll away and leave such limpid air,
And if my soul will riot in the rain,
And sing as gladly as that bird again?
V
I picked this cornflower in the rustling rye,
These briar roses from a luscious hedge,
This purple iris in the woodland sedge.
It was the quaver of the dragon-fly,
Dropped like a piece of azure from the sky,
That led me to that pool amongst the trees--
And there I lay and listened to the bees,
And murmured sadly to myself: “Good-bye.”
Good-bye! these perished petals that I send
Will tell you that this truly is the end;
Good-bye to you and to the golden hours.
These briar roses grew beside the stream--
No, no! I shall not send you faded flowers--
I need them for the grave of my lost dream.