Ho-hey! the wind is blowing in sweetly before the rain-- A tuberculosis of dust lines the shelved books heavily, heavily. Too long have I crouched among them humming, and I only come to my summer years! The swaying trees face the wind and sway. Ho-hey! the retriever's nose is aptly lifted. My fingertips are grey with the grey dust. What is this bitterness that fills my lungs? The smutted screen rattles for attention, and the strong old trees' new greens shudder for what is coming. --The wind is blowing sweetly in: still it is all just Ho-hey!