June 2009 |
The sun rasped with his golden tongue
The city streets, till men and walls shrivelled;
The dusty air stagnated.
At the third noon a wind rippled,
A wide sea silently breaking;
A thick veil of rain-drops
Hid the sun and the hard blue.
A grey garment of rain,
Cold as hoar frost in April,
Enwrapped us.