Classic Poem

IN THE CITY

A shadow creeps to the sun, that seems
Like a soul with a guilty stain;
A silver drop on the pavement gleams:
Thank God for the rain, the rain!

The burning dust of the blazing street
Is dimpled. From o'er the plain
The cool wind comes with a kiss that's sweet
And riots along the rain!

The gamins whistle; the teamsters bare
Their brows for a moment's space;
From sweltering casements the children stare
At the drops in the rainy race!

And the heart of the city beats for joy,
And the sick forget their pain:
And one looks down on a barefoot boy
And longs for his youth again!


IN THE COUNTRY

The broad fields burn in the noonday sun
And the lily looks forlorn;
And the freshness fades from the dusty blades
Of the waveless, windless corn.

The cattle, with never a clank of bells,
Lie still by the shadowed streams;
The birds are mute in the drowsy dells,
When sudden the lightning gleams.

Far off on the horizon's misty marge,
And up from the south there comes
Cloud on cloud, in a battle charge,
And the thunder rolls its drums!

And the corn grows glad and its silks are tossed,
And the lily drinks the drops
That the warring clouds in their anger lost —
Life! life! to the thirsting crops!

And one looks out from a cabin door
And then to a woman speaks:
" We'll have a harvest thet's fine, I'm shore,
Ef it jest don't rain six weeks! "