God's peace and the moon on the meadow's dead clover. Dawn's hush and the fresh breath of morn spilling over Down the long dusty lane from the thicket's close cover. The dust clouds fly hot from the sober hoofs hieing Across the scorched prairies from far fields outlying; Plodding out thro' brown grasses and wayside weeds drying, With the wayside wings whirring—slow poising—far flying; Trailing out to the blue timber line's cool inbreathing, To the spring with the wagons their blue smoke enwreathing, And the ranging white tents the encampment ensheathing. The fresh dews at nightfall breathe fragrant and bearing New straw and new lumber, with the tall torches flaring Above hurrying feet over God's upland faring, Tired faces uplifted; while the rolling hymns wearing Away thro' the woods, touch the restless tired tether, The clanking of harness, the creak of worn leather, With the mists and the moon and the weather—God's weather. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BURIED LADY by PAUL VALERY WHEN THE GREAT GRAY SHIPS COME IN [AUGUST 20, 1898] by GUY WETMORE CARRYL AN ANCIENT PROPHECY by PHILIP FRENEAU PROMETHEUS by JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE CHRISTMAS DAY IN THE WORKHOUSE by GEORGE ROBERT SIMS FANCIES AT NAVESINK: 7 by WALT WHITMAN RODGERSON'S DOUG by WILLIAM AITKEN |