The Blue Bird

From morn till noon upon the window-pane
  The tempest tapped with rainy finger-nails,
  And all the afternoon the blustering gales
  Beat at the door with furious feet of rain.
  The rose, near which the lily bloom lay slain,
  Like some red wound dripped by the garden rails,
  On which the sullen slug left slimy trails--
  Meseemed the sun would never shine again.
  Then in the drench, long, loud and full of cheer,--
  A skyey herald tabarded in blue,--
  A bluebird bugled ... and at once a bow
  Was bent in heaven, and I seemed to hear
  God's sapphire spaces crystallizing through
  The strata'd clouds in azure tremolo.