The wind blew fever-hot across the plain; A lonely windmill creaked against the sky, It screeched as some dark slave in hellish pain From lash of loaded whip, might shriek and cry. The bawling cattle hooked brief bawling lanes Among the milling herd, while clouds of dust Fell hot on saffron grass and scorching grains Like silt from ashes. Cattle ponies fussed And nipped the backs of steers to force a path Toward that near water-trough ... no trickle there ... The lead-pipe fallen down! The groaning wrath Of one gaunt dying cow made wild the air. Her swollen lips, mocked by a sun-baked creek ... An empty trough ... the windmill's lying squeak! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: DIRGE FOR WOLFRAM by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES A DREAM, FR. SONGS OF INNOCENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE DOWN THE MISSISSIPPI: 5. THE STEVEDORES by JOHN GOULD FLETCHER ONCE BY THE PACIFIC by ROBERT FROST HURRAHING IN HARVEST by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS A FAREWELL TO LONDON IN THE YEAR 1715 by ALEXANDER POPE AD PATRIAM by CLINTON SCOLLARD |