Author Amy Lowell LATE A FTERNOON Smoke-colour, rose, saffron, With a hard edge chipping the blue sky, A great cloud hung over the village, And the white-painted meeting-house, And the steeple with the gilded weather-cock Heading and flashing to the wind. Tags Short Poems Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments