Francis Bret Harte (Фрэнсис Брет Гарт)
A Sanitary Message
Last night, above the whistling wind, I heard the welcome rain,-- A fusillade upon the roof, A tattoo on the pane: The keyhole piped; the chimney-top A warlike trumpet blew; Yet, mingling with these sounds of strife, A softer voice stole through. ”Give thanks, O brothers!” said the voice, ”That He who sent the rains Hath spared your fields the scarlet dew That drips from patriot veins: I’ve seen the grass on Eastern graves In brighter verdure rise; But, oh! the rain that gave it life Sprang first from human eyes. ”I come to wash away no stain Upon your wasted lea; I raise no banners, save the ones The forest waves to me: Upon the mountain side, where Spring Her farthest picket sets, My reveille awakes a host Of grassy bayonets. ”I visit every humble roof; I mingle with the low: Only upon the highest peaks My blessings fall in snow; Until, in tricklings of the stream And drainings of the lea, My unspent bounty comes at last To mingle with the sea.” And thus all night, above the wind, I heard the welcome rain,-- A fusillade upon the roof, A tattoo on the pane: The keyhole piped; the chimney-top A warlike trumpet blew; But, mingling with these sounds of strife, This hymn of peace stole through.
Francis Bret Harte’s other poems:
