Sinopsis

The winds had hushed at last as by command; The quiet sky above, With its grey clouds spread o'er the fallow land, Sat brooding like a dove There was no motion in the air, no sound Within the treetops stirred, Save when some last leaf, fluttering to the ground, Dropped like a wounded bird: Or when the swart rooks in a gathering crowd With clamorous noises wheeled, Hovering awhile, then swooped with wranglings loud