A breath is stirring the taut-strung nerve Of the panting afternoon, And the leaves, excited, are whispering low: "The rain will be coming soon." The air is cooler, a silvery cloud In the sky is mounting and growing. Oh, rain will be falling in less than an hour And sweet cool wind will be blowing. The cloud has carried its treasure away; The sunset is brazen and stark; But the dust-heavy leaves are whispering still: "Perhaps it will rain in the dark." |