Classic Poem

Yestermorn the air was dry
As the winds of Araby,
While the sun with pitiless heat,
Glared upon the glaring street,
And the meadow fountains sealed,
Till the people everywhere,
And the cattle in the field,
And the birds in middle air,
And the thirsty little flowers,
Sent to heaven a fainting prayer
For the blessed summer showers.

Not in vain the prayer was said;
For at sunset, overhead,
Sailing from the gorgeous west,
Came the pioneers, abreast,
Of a wondrous argosy,
The Armada of the sky!
Far along I saw them sail,
Wafted by an upper gale;
Saw them, on their lustrous route,
Fling a thousand banners out:
Yellow, violet, crimson, blue,
Orange, sapphire, — every hue
That the gates of Heaven put on,
To the sainted eyes of John,
In that hallowed Patmos isle
Their skiey pennons wore; and while
I drank the glory of the sight
Sunset faded into night.

Then diverging, far and wide,
To the dim horizon's side,
Silently and swiftly there,
Every galleon of the air,
Manned by some celestial crew,
Out its precious cargo threw,
And the gentle summer rain
Cooled the fevered earth again.

Through the night I heard it fall
Tenderly and musical;
And this morning not a sigh
Of wind uplifts the briony leaves,
But the ashen-tinted sky
Still for earthly turmoil grieves,
While the melody of the rain,
Dripping on the window-pane,
On the lilac and the rose,
Round us all its pleasance throws.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .