Classic Poem

A sky portentous and a landscape drear,
A sullen river bearing down the vale
One lonely steamboat with its lingering trail,
Low-hung, of umber smoke, and, in the near
Gray field, scant rows of unhusked corn-shocks sere,
Like spectral tents deserted. Nature, pale
In leaden sunset, seems to droop and fail,
Foreboding nightfall and the waning year.
List, and look up! A rush of hurtled wings
Swirled through the gusty void in panic haste!
Whence? Wherefore? Whither, desperately driven?
A flying cloud of blackbirds — helpless things!
Yet hark! how they their wild, swift music waste
Above dark earth unto the somber heaven!