LONG has the dew been dried on tree and lawn: O'er man and beast a not unwelcome boon Is shed, the languor of approaching noon; To shady rest withdrawing or withdrawn Mute are all creatures, as this couchant fawn, Save insect-swarms that hum in air afloat, Save that the Cock is crowing, a shrill note, Startling and shrill as that which roused the dawn. -- Heard in that hour, or when, as now, the nerve Shrinks from the note as from a mistimed thing, Oft for a holy warning may it serve, Charged with remembrance of 'his' sudden sting, His bitter tears, whose name the Papal Chair And yon resplendent Church are proud to bear. |