Paul Hamilton Hayne (Пол Гамильтон Хейн)

The Coming of the Wind

An hour agone, and prostrate Nature lay
Like some sore-smitten creature nigh to death,
With feverish parched lips, with labouring breath,
And languid eyeballs darkening to the day.
A burning noontide ruled with merciless sway
Earth, wave, and air; the ghastly-stretching heath,
The sullen trees, the fainting flowers beneath,
Drooped hopeless, shrivelling in the torrid ray;—
When, like a sudden, cheerful trumpet blown
Far off by rescuing spirits, rose the wind
Urging great hosts of clouds; the thunder's tone
Breaks into wrath; the rainy cataracts fall.
But, pausing, lo, behold Creation shrined
In a new birth,—God's covenant clasping all!

1. An Idle Poet, Dreaming in the Sun
2. Too Oft the Poet in Elaborate Verse
3. Along the Path Thy Bleeding Feet Have Trod
4. Baby’s First Word
5. The Laughing Hours before Her Feet

Распечатать (Print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1113

Последние стихотворения

To English version