The air is full of after-thunder freshness,
And everything rejoices and revives.
With the whole outburst of its purple
The lilac drinks the air of paradise.
The gutters overflow; the change of
Makes all you see appear alive and new.
Meanwhile the shades of sky are growing lighter,
Beyond the blackest cloud the height is blue.
An artist's hand, with mastery still
Wipes dirt and dust off objects in his path.
Reality and life, the past and present,
Emerge transformed out of his colour-bath.
The memory of over half a
Like swiftly passing thunder dies away.
The century is no more under wardship:
High time to let the future have its say.
It is not revolutions and
That clear the road to new and better days,
But revelations, lavishness and
Of someone's soul, inspired and ablaze.
