Hard from the southeast blows the wind

 by Elizabeth Coatsworth
Hard from the southeast blows the wind
Promising rain.
The clouds are gathering, and dry leaves
Tap at the pane
Early the cows come wandering home
To shadowy bars,
Early the candles are alight
And a few stars.
Now is the hour that lies between
Bright day and night,
When in the dusk the fire blooms
In tongs of light,
And the cat comes to bask herself
In the soft heat,
And Madame Peace draws up her chair
To warm her feet.
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