The Hot Winds - A poem by Frederick J. Atwood

The Hot Winds.

Day after day, with scorching ray,
The burning sun has risen and set.
No cloud on high in all the sky
Protects us from the dreadful heat.

The wells are low; springs cease to flow;
All nature droops in the terrible dearth;
The dust, in clouds, like vast gray shrouds,
Envelops and hides the suffering earth.

Then from the mouth of the heated South,
Comes forth a breath so parched and dry
That manhood quails and courage fails,
For the direful hot winds are nigh.

With fiery breath, the South-wind saith,
As he hurries impatiently on to his prey,
"Whatever of good the sun hath withstood
My warrant shall hear and quickly obey.

"The corn shall wither; hither and thither
Shall fly dead leaves in my furnace-like breath;
All nature shall languish, and man, in his anguish,
Shall hate me and curse me in impotent wrath.

"Then I'll whistle in glee, when their mis'ry I see,
And hotter and louder my breath shall swell,
Until I am hurled by the Judge of the world
Down shrieking below to the confines of hell."

1883.

^__Frederick J. Atwood .