Burnt Lands

ON other fields and other scenes the morn
Laughs from her blue, — but not such scenes are these,
Where comes no summer cheer of leaves and bees,
And no shade mitigates the day's white scorn.
These serious acres vast no groves adorn ;
But giant trunks, bleak shapes that once were trees,
Tower naked, unassuaged of rain or breeze,
Their stern grey isolation grimly borne.
The months roll over them, and mark no change ;
But when spring stirs, or autumn stills, the years,
Surely some phantom leafage rustles faint
Thro' their parched dreams, — some old-time notes ring strange,
When in his slender treble, far and clear,
Reiterates the rain-bird his complaint,