The drouth had been long—oh, very long—
The whole long month of blithesome May;
The rain-clouds seemed to have wandered wrong,
From the pinched, brown land so far away:
Leaves fell; and the blue-birds hushed their song,
As field and forest grew dim and gray.
Then one night the clouds had gathered: the wind
Came in from the east; but it needed trust
To believe that the soft rain lurked behind,
To cool the fierce heat and to lay the dust: