“The Coming Storm:”

All feeling hearts must feel for him

Who felt this picture. Presage dim —

Dim inklings from the shadowy sphere

Fixed him and fascinated here.

A demon-cloud like the mountain one

Burst on a spirit as mild

As this urned lake, the home of shades.

But Shakspeare's pensive child

Never the lines had lightly scanned,

Steeped in fable, steeped in fate;

The Hamlet in his heart was‘ ware,

Such hearts can antedate.

No utter surprise can come to him

Who reaches Shakspeare's core;

That which we seek and shun is there —

Man's final lore.