On other fields and other scenes the morn
Laughs from her blue,--but not such scenes as these,
Where comes no cheer of summer leaves and bees,
And no shade mitigates the day's white scorn.
These serious acres vast no groves adorn;
But giant trunks, bleak shapes that once were trees,
Tow'r naked, una**uaged of rain or breeze,
Their stern grey isolation grimly borne.
The months roll over them and mark no change;
But when spring stirs, or autumn stills, the year,
Perchance some phantom leaf*ge rustles faint
Through their parched dreams--some old-time notes ring strange,
When, in his slender treble, far and clear,
Reiterates the rain-bird his complaint.