Lines Written to Dvorak's "Carnival Overture", Op. 92

They return, triumphant in arms, balancing their broadswords
And shakos, raising spears high in the clash
Of their calls, "Hoho! Hoiho!" Around them crowd, in wonder,
Youths with faces of gold, maidens
Of glittering eyes, while thatched roofs
And thick fields glisten with sun.

But from the tower where thunder-clouds circle, whose high spires
Rival the mountains by casting sleek shadows over the farms
And broad pastures, the crowd is nothing more than diminishing
Buzz, a vision of dusty pollen pervading the breeze. Here
Air is peaceful, and the sunlight trickles a trade
Of birdsong and murmuring shades. As pastors consider afar
The slouching of cumulous sterns, giving countenance to the grim dead,
So in the free heights the spreading checkerboard of dim life
Resolves into an ordered sway, necessity's slow dance. But for the waltz

Of plunging hail! Because the weather always returns to the earth,
And since lightning's the crack between peace and war,
When the thunderheads bellow and rain drenches all,
And the winds freeze a long swathe as far as the fathomless sea,
Then even the farmer yearns to take arms: the elements drive men mad,
So they burnish bronze and sharpen the heirloom, a century's rust,
To a new and glorious shine. "Soon," they say, "You will plunge
Again in the breasts of those subdued, soon rivulets will pour
From your victims into cataracts of the groaning storm." Plants
Meanwhile, take heart, who by water extract soiled secrets, and learn
How to rival the hunger of aphids and ants in their bloom.