Plate 107. LOMBARDY POPLARS. Santa Barbara. 



"Now with the breath of coming rain 



The poplars sway in troubled row, 



Like old wives, rocking to and fro 

 In pain; 

 Th y shake their heads in shocked surprise 



And whisper underneath their breath. 



Like mourners in a house of death; 

 Then lift their aprons to their eyes 

 Again." 



