| |
| THE RAIN was over, and the brilliant air | |
| Made every little blade of grass appear | |
| Vivid and startling—everything was there | |
| With sharpened outlines, eloquently clear, | |
| As though one saw it in a crystal sphere. | 5 |
| |
| The rusty sumac with its struggling spires; | |
| The golden-rod with all its million fires | |
| (A million torches swinging in the wind); | |
| A single poplar, marvellously thinned, | |
| Half like a naked boy, half like a sword; | 10 |
| Clouds, like the haughty banners of the Lord; | |
| A group of pansies with their shrewish faces, | |
| Little old ladies cackling over laces; | |
| The quaint, unhurried road that curved so well; | |
| The prim petunias with their rich, rank smell; | 15 |
| The lettuce-birds, the creepers in the field— | |
| How bountifully were they all revealed! | |
| How arrogantly each one seemed to thrive— | |
| So frank and strong, so radiantly alive! | |
| |
| And over all the morning-minded earth | 20 |
| There seemed to spread a sharp and kindling mirth, | |
| Piercing the stubborn stones until I saw | |
| The toad face heaven without shame or awe, | |
| The ant confront the stars, and every weed | |
| Grow proud as though it bore a royal seed; | 25 |
| While all the things that die and decompose | |
| Sent forth their bloom as richly as the rose…. | |
| Oh, what a liberal power that made them thrive | |
| And keep the very dirt that died, alive. | |
| |
| And now I saw the slender willow-tree | 30 |
| No longer calm or drooping listlessly, | |
| Letting its languid branches sway and fall | |
| As though it danced in some sad ritual; | |
| But rather like a young, athletic girl, | |
| Fearless and gay, her hair all out of curl, | 35 |
| And flying in the wind—her head thrown back, | |
| Her arms flung up, her garments flowing slack, | |
| And all her rushing spirits running over…. | |
| What made a sober tree seem such a rover— | |
| Or made the staid and stalwart apple-trees, | 40 |
| That stood for years knee-deep in velvet peace, | |
| Turn all their fruit to little worlds of flame, | |
| And burn the trembling orchard there below? | |
| What lit the heart of every golden-glow— | |
| Oh, why was nothing weary, dull, or tame?… | 45 |
| Beauty it was, and keen, compassionate mirth | |
| That drives the vast and energetic earth. | |
| |
| And, with abrupt and visionary eyes, | |
| I saw the huddled tenements arise. | |
| Here where the merry clover danced and shone | 50 |
| Sprang agonies of iron and of stone; | |
| There, where green Silence laughed or stood enthralled, | |
| Cheap music blared and evil alleys sprawled. | |
| The roaring avenues, the shrieking mills; | |
| Brothels and prisons on those kindly hills— | 55 |
| The menace of these things swept over me; | |
| A threatening, unconquerable sea…. | |
| |
| A stirring landscape and a generous earth! | |
| Freshening courage and benevolent mirth— | |
| And then the city, like a hideous sore…. | 60 |
| Good God, and what is all this beauty for? | |
| |
