THE face of day is haggard, The eye of day is blear, And troubled is the earth, For the storm steals near; But the kine are in the grass-land, Grazing without fear, And busily the mill-wheel Hums by the weir. The kine are in the grass-land, Grazing without fear, But the shepherd in the mountains And the sheep-dogs hear The mutter of the thunder, The first low thunder, The rumble of the thunder On the moor and the mere. |