THOU HAST come again to me in the burst of a sudden storm, filling my sky with the shudder of thy shadowy clouds. The Sun is hidden, the stars are lost; the red line of the road is merged in the mist of the rain; the wail of the wind comes across the water. Fitful showers, like ghastly fingers, strike the chords of some unseen harp, waking up the music of the dark, sweeping my heart with a shiver of sounds.
THE FERRY-BOAT plies between the two villages facing each other across the narrow stream. The water is neither wide nor deep-a mere break in the path that enhances the small adventures of daily life, like a break in the words of a song across which the tune gleefully streams. While the towers of wealth rise high and crash to ruin, these villages talk to each other across the garrulous stream, and the ferry-boat plies between them, age after age, from seed-time to harvest.
