The Listeners

The face of day is haggard,
The eye of day is blear,
And troubled is the earth,
For the storm steals near;
But the kine are in the grass-land,
Grazing without fear,
And busily the mill-wheel
Hums by the weir.

The kine are in the grass-land,
Grazing without fear,
But the shepherd in the mountains
And the sheep-dogs hear
The mutter of the thunder,
The first low thunder,
The rumble of the thunder,
On the moor and the mere.
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