Georgics, book 1, lines 311–327

Need I describe what men must watch for
when the weather changes under autumn’s stars,
the days grow shorter, with a gentler heat;
or when spring downpours soak the bristling cornfields
as the milky grain is swelling on green stalks?

A farmer and his reaper reach his golden acres
and begin to strip the barley from its fragile stems.
Just then, the winds from every quarter join in battle,
tearing the laden harvest far and wide,
uprooting it and hurling it on high,
as if it were light chaff and flying stubble
scattered by a whirlwind to the darkening air.
I’ve often seen it. Often, too, I’ve seen
a mighty mass of waters gather in the sky;
inside the toppling clouds black showers form.
Heaven falls to earth; the deluge
drowns the smiling crops and wastes the oxen’s labour.
Ditches fill; deep rivers in their channels swell and roar;
the ocean chafes and boils in the estuaries.