The Roof

I         When the clouds hide the sun away         The tall slate roof is dull and grey,         And when the rain adown it streams         'Tis polished lead with pale-blue gleams.         When the clouds vanish and the rain         Stops, and the sun comes out again,         It shimmers golden in the sun         Almost too bright to look upon.         But soon beneath the steady rays         The roof is dried and reft of blaze,         'Tis dusty yellow traversed through         By long thin lines of deepest blue.         Then at the last, as night draws near,         The lines grow faint and disappear,         The roof becomes a purple mist,         A great square darkening amethyst         Which sinks into the gathering shade         Till separate form and colour fade,         And it is but a patch which mars         The beauty of a field of stars.         II         It stands so lonely in the sky         The sparrows never come thereby,         The glossy starlings seldom stop         To preen and chatter on the top.         For a whole week sometimes up there         No wing-wave stirs the quiet air,         The roof lies silent and serene         As though no life had ever been;         Till some bright afternoon, athwart         The edge two sudden shadows dart,         And two white pigeons with pink feet         Flutter above and pitch on it.         Jerking their necks out as they walk         They talk awhile their pigeon-talk,         A low continuous murmur blent         Of mock reproaches and content.         Then cease, and sit there warm and white         An hour, till in the fading light         They wake, and know the close of day,         Flutter above, and fly away,         Leaving the roof whereon they sat         As 'twas before, a peaceful flat         Expanse, as silent and serene         As though no life had ever been.