by Robert Seymour Bridges (1844 - 1930)

Hurricane
Language: English 
The summer trees are tempest-torn,
The hills are wrapped in a mantle wide
Of folding rain by the mad wind borne
Across the country side.

His scourge of fury is lashing down
The delicate rankèd golden corn,
That never shall rear its crown
And curtsy to the morn.

So my proud spirit in me is sad,
A wreck of fairer field to mourn,
The ruin of golden hopes she had,
My delicate rankèd corn.

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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website: 2010-02-07
Line count: 12
Word count: 74