The storm retreats on bruised and heavy wings, As sunlight breaks across the valley floor, And touches where the wild, green meadow sings, A sea of gold beside the forest shore. Two wooden barns, like ships upon the grass, Stand weathered, gray, and silent in the light, Watching the shadow of the tempest pass, As day recaptures what was claimed by night. The buttercups in brilliant thousands bloom, A living carpet woven thick and deep, Shaking away the remnants of the gloom, While distant woods their quiet secrets keep. Above, the sky is torn in blue and gray— A fleeting, beautiful, and restless peace, Where shifting clouds and golden sunbeams play, And all the troubles of the world decrease.