Feel it against your shins,
The stinging slanting rain
That laces all the gutters
With its swathes of glittering brightness …
Feel it against your face …
And think of sudden gusty showers,
A little horse's gleaming neck and flanks,
The smell of rain on leather;
The smell of rain on saddle soap;
And the pearly glitter of flying hoofs
Bound for the stable.
Rain…
Even in the city
It has the smell of the country!
You, the Sower of Seed
You, the sower of seed
In this fertile field
That is my body,
Tenderly shall I care for it,
Guard it from heat and cold
And sudden change.
Only the softest sun shall shine on it
Wrap't in careful quietness
This white field shall sleep.
Dream I, in arrowy adoration
Of the garnering-in time.
Your seed … sown in the field
That is my body,
Quickening to life
In the secret places
Under my heart.
And whatever the yield
I shall deem it beautiful,
Sprung from your seed.
Nightmare
"Mother!" he cried out to me, in the night.
And I knew that he had been dreaming.
Some dark and troubling shadow
Had pressed against him fearfully.
And I turned him in his little bed
And he drifted re-assured,
Into quiet sleep.
But who are we to turn to
In the long night
When the black wings beat?
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