A November Prairie

THE sun rose up in drear and sullen state
And gazed remote upon a withered world ;
One slow, cold, distant glance, one pale unfeeling gaze,
Then drew the gray clouds close, and veiled his face from view.
From east to west the tall bleached grass stretched out
A wide and level monotone of gray.
No sign of life was there, nor tree, nor living thing;
A frozen earth spread ’neath an ashen sky,
And all between was silence and the cold.
The day draws on, the cold still fiercer grows,
Upon the gray a darker gray appears ;
A writhing, seething mass of angry clouds
Sweeps on with fearful force and snowy breath ;
The ghostly grass bows down with one great moan of pain,
And all the shuddering air is filled with strife.
Katharine T. Prescott.