THE long cloud edged with streaming grey Soars from the West; The red leaf mounts with it away, Showing the nest A blot among the branches bare: There is a cry of outcasts in the air. Swift little breezes, darting chill, Pant down the lake; A crow flies from the yellow hill, And in its wake A baffled line of labouring rooks: Steel-surfaced to the light the river looks. Pale on the panes of the old hall Gleams the lone space Between the sunset and the squall; And on its face Mournfully glimmers to the last: Great oaks grow mighty minstrels in the blast. Pale the rain-rutted roadways shine In the green light Behind the cedar and the pine: Come, thundering night! Blacken broad earth with hoards of storm: For me yon valley-cottage beckons warm. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO MY MERE ENGLISH CENSURER by BEN JONSON A VALENTINE by LAURA ELIZABETH HOWE RICHARDS SINCERE FLATTERY OF R.B. by JAMES KENNETH STEPHEN THE MYSTIC TRUMPETER by WALT WHITMAN AD S. ANGELUM CUSTODEM by JOSEPH BEAUMONT CHINESE PICTURE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |