A Thunderstorm

A moment the wild swallows like a flight

  Of withered gust-caught leaves, serenely high,

  Toss in the windrack up the muttering sky.

  The leaves hang still. Above the weird twilight,

  The hurrying centres of the storm unite

  And spreading with huge trunk and rolling fringe,

  Each wheeled upon its own tremendous hinge,

  Tower darkening on. And now from heaven's height,

  With the long roar of elm-trees swept and swayed,

 And pelted waters, on the vanished plain

 Plunges the blast. Behind the wild white flash

 That splits abroad the pealing thunder-crash,

 Over bleared fields and gardens disarrayed,

 Column on column comes the drenching rain.

Composition date is unknown - the above date represents the first publication date.Form: Sonnet: abbaaccadeffde