Page:Anthology of Magazine Verse (1921).djvu/125

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To the South I blow my whistle,To the red parrot of the South I call.Send red lightning,Under your wingsThe forked lightning.Thunder-rattles whirlTo the sky waters.Fill the springs.The water is moving.Wait—
Whistle to the EastWith a magpie voice.Wee-kee! Wee-kee-kee!Call the storm-cloudsThat they come rushing.Call the loud rain.
Why does it not come?Who is bad?Whose heart is evil?Who has done wickedness?I weep,I rend my garments,I grieve for the sin which is in this place.My flute sobs with the voice of all birds in the water.Even to the six directions I weep and despair.Come, O winds, from the sides of the sky,Open your bird-beaks that rain may fall down.Drench our fields, our houses,Fill the landWith tumult of rain.
The DialAmy Lowell

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