A Line-Storm Song

2017-04-29

The line-storm clouds fly tattered and swift.

The road is forlorn all day,

Where a myriad snowy quartz stones lift,

And the hoof-prints vanish away.

The roadside flowers, too wet for the bee,

Expend their bloom in vain.

Come over the hills and far with me,

And be my love in the rain.

The birds have less to say for themselves

In the wood-world's torn despair

Than now these numberless years the elves,

Although they are no less there:

All song of the woods is crushed like some

Wild, earily shattered rose.

Come, be my love in the wet woods, come,

Where the boughs rain when it blows.

There is the gale to urge behind

And bruit our singing down,

And the shallow waters aflutter with wind

From which to gather your gown.

What matter if we go clear to the west,

And come not through dry-shod?

For wilding brooch shall wet your breast

The rain-fresh goldenrod.

Oh, never this whelming east wind swells

But it seems like the sea's return

To the ancient lands where it left the shells

Before the age of the fern;

And it seems like the time when after doubt

Our love came back amain.

Oh, come forth into the storm and rout

And be my love in the rain.

URL:

plagiarist.com/poetry/?wid=675

www.plagiarist.com

Plagiarist.com Poetry Archive: Talkback!

» For Students

Need help with an assignment? See how the Plagiarist.com PoetryNotes™ can make

poetry analysis a snap!

» For Critics and Scholars

Have something to say about this poem? Use our comment form to add a comment!

«top»