All the world lies bare and brown
As sand before a flooding;
A little wave runs up and down,
The merest foam of budding,
Here and there, is a shimmering drop,
And a sparkle fresh,
And a glimmer of sunshine caught atop,
Making a rainbow mesh.
With news from islands fortunate
Came yesterday the swallows;
"Good luck," they say, "be with his freight,
The fair south wind that follows,"
With longer sunrays overlap
The days in flow,
Till up in heaven the windows ope,
And the fountains break below,
Full forty days, and forty nights
Rain light, and leaf, and blossom;
Till there's not one of all the heights
But is covered, brow and bosom,
Till at high tide the waters stay
In the month of June,
And ebb through many a morn of play,
And many a slow, sweet afternoon,
Till the old world glideth out some day,
To the flow of a sinking tune.
