patricia divina
No life in earth, or air, or skyThe sunbeams, broken silently,On the bared rocks around me lie,Cold rocks with half-warmed lichens scarred,And scales of moss; and scarce a yardAway, one long strip, yellow-barred.Lost in a cleft! ’Tis but a strideTo reach it, thrust its roots aside,And lift it on thy stick astride!For round thee, thrilling air and space,A chattering terror fills the place!A sound as of dry bones that stirIn the dead Valley! By yon firThe locust stops its noonday whir!The wild bird hears; smote with the sound,As if by bullet brought to ground,On broken wing, dips, wheeling round!The hare, transfixed, with trembling lip.