Birdsong for Rain

The familiar birds were calling for water, Their unlabored watersong crying for rain, As the unmeditated summer heat Sank in thick swathes on the tumbled grain.

Through the lilac bush and abutting maples On the lawn where the house had been leaved Since the roof-tree first appeared on the hill, The thirsting impatient bird-throats grieved.

Round as a gold-piece molten in fire, The sun was unambushed flame as the drouth, An imponderable cobra, coiled In crouched rings at the earth's dry mouth.

The gathering contrapuntal choir In unspoiled voices proscribed the spell; Sterterous thunder overwhelmed Music—and water fell.