And breezes are just moving the clear heat. O the mid-noon is trembling on the corn, On cattle calm, and trees in perfect sleep. And hast thou empty come? Hast thou not brought Even a blossom with the noise of rain And smell of earth about it, that we all Might gather round and whisper over it? At one wet blossom all the dead would feel! O thou beginning to glide here a shadow, Soon shalt thou know how much it seems to us, In miserable dim magnificence, To feel the snowdrop growing over us! That barren crown! But now it was a wreath. These gusts of H_e__ll haye i_t_ 1n If thou canst bear it yet, O speak to me Of the blue noon, Of breezes and of rivers!

A wonderful stillness stopped her; like to trees Motionless in an ecstasy of rain.

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