THE SUN-SHOWER.

A penciled shade the sky doth sweep,

And transient glooms creep in to sleep

Amid the orchard;

Fantastic breezes pull the trees

Hither and yon, to vagaries

Of aspect tortured.

Then, like the downcast dreamy fringe

Of eyelids, when dim gates unhinge

That locked their tears,

Falls on the hills a mist of rain,—

So faint, it seems to fade again;

Yet swiftly nears.

Now sparkles the air, all steely-bright,

With drops swept down in arrow-flight,

Keen, quivering lines.

Ceased in a breath the showery sound;

And teasingly, now, as I look around,

Sweet sunlight shines!