WAYSIDE AND HIGHWAY IN AUTUMN
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There they stand, the flowering rods,
Rods of sunshine that are God's, Captive sunshine held at bay While the autumn wears away, Promise of a coming day When new flowers shall blow that way. There they stand, the blackening stacks, Stacks all charred with browns and blacks Like a nest of black-scaled snakes, From whose jaws which nothing slakes Jaggèd tongues of hungry flame Leap through darkness none dare name; Burning night, devouring dark, Hissing, reeling, spewing spark, Breathing smokes that writhe and twist, Taunting all that dares exist. Yet this nest of fiendish flame— Brood all-worthy Satan's name— Rises up from God's own mills, His as much as all the hills, Where they stand, the flowering rods, Rods of sunshine, held at bay While the autumn wears away. |