A brook

Which murmured me to high afternoon fields,

Where came a shower,

And after that, the long, straight call of the low sun

To the green-gold and winking purple of every leaf

And the long shadows between the hills.

And every leaf was glad

And the earth was comforted,

Breathing up freshly,

And the hills were full of joy,

And the clouds remained in the west

In ecstasy of color because of the sun.

Out of hidden trees

A wood-thrush sang.

And then I heard the restaurant—

Crashing of spoons on trays,

The dip, dip, dip, of the big rotary fans,

The chink of the cash-register, the clatter of money into the tray,

And people talking loudly, with mirthless laughter,

And munching, munching, munching.

Over it mocked the violin—

The rain fell and the sun called,

And there returned unto the violin,

And entered with glory into the violin

Final loneliness.

Then the pianist selected something from a musical comedy.