Classic Poem

A dull grey dawn was followed by a heaven
Of faint blue tint, with pillowy clouds rolled high
Against the concave. Soon the sun, a mass
Of white and dazzling light was seen. Seen! No:
You look'd, and turn'd, and blinding shadows played
Before your eyes. For he had stolen behind
Great steely belts of vapour; gave no sign
Save some few yellow-crimson touches near
The horizon pale, which proved no herald rays,
But legacies of his eclipsed glory.
The clouds grew brighter, shone more pearly-white;
The horses stood but half awake, nor fed;
Lazily, languidly they switched their tails.
Up from the prairie rose the myriad songs
Of birds. The bull-frog's plaintive note was heard
In pauses of the various melody.
The long legged night-hawk ran along the track
And uttered his harsh-grating cry. The air
Was cool and balmy, odorous with scent
Of grass and flower. I sat me down to read.
My eyes I raised at intervals to watch
Put on a subtler polish the bright clouds.
Three Indians clad in cast-off clothes of whites,
All lank and dirty, listless, came and sat
A short way off. Towards seven the sun grew hot
And made one long for branching bowery trees,
With their cool shadows and their murmuring leaves.