Classic Poem

A settled rain is making in from sea;
A slate-blue drifting mist has blurred the white
Of apple blossoms and the dogwood's light,
And mezzotinted every greening tree.
A cold wind draws from out the east. One bee
That to the rank-sweet hyacinths came pight
Touched at them all and took momentous flight.
Later a butterfly raced in, and he
Paused but a wingfold and went glimmering on.
Now twilight steals along the old stone wall
Across the highway; day is almost gone.
It is too chill even for the frogs to call.
I draw my curtains on the darkening lawn,
And the long night rain has begun to fall.