Classic and Contemporary Poetry
AFTER THE STORM, by EFFIE WALLER SMITH Poet's Biography First Line: Long ere the sparkling raindrops Last Line: Which cannot be undone. Subject(s): Nature; Storms; Trees | ||||||||
Long ere the sparkling raindrops Ceased dripping to the ground From all the water-laden trees, With soft and gentle sound; The sun in golden splendor Shone brightly unawares, And seemed to turn these raindrops all To myriads of stars, All scintillant with radiance, Like Hermon's lavish dews, Moment'rily displaying The rainbow's varied hues. The birds all fast awakening From silent lethargy, Now trill and warble sweet and clear, Their songs o'er wood and lea. The tinkling of bells is heard, As sheep and cattle come From the hastily-sought shelter Before the coming storm; And wander now about at will The hill-side pastures over, Nibbling drooping daisies And luscious grass and clover. The little, silvery brooklet Of just an hour ago, Is roaring and foaming Like a furious, maddened foe. Now leaping over fallen trees, The summer's greenness wearing, Fence-rails and other debris, o'er Its restless bosom bearing. You monstrous, smouldering oak, The growth of many a year; Among the forest trees it stood In size without a peer. Its branches proudly reared aloft, But, by one blighting stroke From heaven, now lies rent in twain, A fallen though mighty oak. Far out in deluged bottom-land Are numerous shocks of oat, Of wheat, of rye, of barley, and Just finished haystacks float. You field once gay and beautiful, In waving tasseled maize, Of which the neighboring farmers Spoke in their envious praise, Is now a mass of tangled stalks, Of wealth and beauty shorn; Its once bright, streaming banners To shredded ribbons torn. And here and there the chopping Of ax is plainly heard, Then a dull thud, as fallen trees And limbs away are cleared. Someone's heard driving cattle, Then hammering away, -- Telling the tale of fences Laid low, and swept away. But now the sky is clear and gray; The moon is shining bright, Bathing the watery, soggy world In silvery rays of light. The creek has ceased its murmurs, All things are calm and still, Save the frog's sharp croaking, Or a cry from "whip-poor-will." Nature calm, in all her beauty, Mockingly smileth on The devastation she hath wrought, Which cannot be undone. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PROBLEM OF DESCRIBING TREES by ROBERT HASS THE GREEN CHRIST by ANDREW HUDGINS MIDNIGHT EDEN by JOSEPHINE JACOBSEN REFLECTION OF THE WOOD by LEONIE ADAMS THE LIFE OF TREES by DORIANNE LAUX A GOOD-BYE by EFFIE WALLER SMITH |
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