Page:Poems Cook.djvu/407

THE SHOWER.

There was nothing but azure and gold in the sky,
The lips of the young Rose were yawning and dry,
And each blossom appeal'd, with luxurious sigh,
              To its neighbouring flower.

The Carnation exclaim'd, "I am really too bright;"
The lily drawl'd out, "I shall faint with the light;"
And a troop of red Poppies cried out in their might,
              "Let us pray for a shower."

The Myrtle-leaf said, "I'm too wearied to shine,"
And the Jasmine quite languidly lisp'd, to the Vine,
"Your ringlets I think are more lanky than mine,"
              Then sank down in her bower.

"There is really too much of this Midsummer blaze,"
Said the Sage-plant, while screening her root from the rays;
"The Poppies are right, though I hate their bold ways,
              We must ask for a shower."

They framed the petition, while Flora and Jove
Most attentively heard; and in fulness of love,
A dark, mist-laden messenger wander'd above
              For a shadowy hour.

The gloom came on suddenly,—that we must own,—
And we wonder'd where all the world's beauty had flown,
As the clouds gather'd up and the rain rattled down
              In a leaf-laying shower.

The blossoms fell prostrate and pensive awhile,
Bending down to the earth in most pitiful style,
Even after Apollo reburnish'd his smile.
              With more glorious power.

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