You have been far, and know the signs of things:
When will this yellow vapour no more hang
And creep about the fields, and this great heat
Vanish away—and grass show its green shoots?
FIRST MERCHANT.
There is no sign of change—day copies day,
Green things are dead—the cattle too are dead,
Or dying—and on all the vapour hangs
And fattens with disease and glows with heat.
In you is all the hope of all the land.