A THUNDERSTORM AT NIGHT.

The lightning is the shorthand of the storm

That tells of chaos; and I read the same

As one may read the writing of a name,—

As one in Hell may see the sudden form

Of God's fore-finger pointed as in blame.

How weird the scene! The Dark is sulphur-warm

With hints of death; and in their vault enorme

The reeling stars coagulate in flame.

And now the torrents from their mountain-beds

Roar down uncheck'd; and serpents shaped of mist

Writhe up to Heaven with unforbidden heads;

And thunder-clouds, whose lightnings intertwist,

Rack all the sky, and tear it into shreds,

And shake the air like Titians that have kiss'd!