Calm Before Storm

There is silence on yon fair valley, And calm on yon purple hill: But the trees are moaning together With a sigh that is never still. The wold and the fertile farmlands Lie under a stifling haze, And the cattle are winding slowly Home by the well-known ways. The world is still in the gloaming, The winds are at rest in the fall; And up thro' the golden twilight Floats the chime of an evening bell. But the trees are bending together, And whispering each to each, With a sorrowful rustle of branches And a sigh that is almost speech. And the birds in the sheltering gable Draw closer in vague affright; For the heart of the earth is heavy With the storm that will come to-night.