XII. STORM.

Now thickening round the shrunken baseless sky,

Sullen vapours crawl

Climbing to masses, tumbled heavily

Grim in giant sprawl,

That smother up domed heaven's scud-fleckered height

And form like mortal armies ranged for fight.

This lighted gloom spreads ghastly on the land;

Sheep do crowd; and herds

Collecting, bellow pitifully bland.

Quiet are the birds

In ghostly trees that shiver not a sound:

And leaves decayed drop straight unto the ground.

Drearily solemn runs a monotone,

Heard through breathless hush,

Swollen torrents hissing far in lavish moan,

Foamed with headlong rush,

Sob on protesting, toward annihilation,

Their solitary dismal lamentation.

This gloom has sucked all interest from the scene,

Now changed wrathful grey:

Familiar things, that staring plain had been,

Fade in mists away:

At ambush, watching from its stormy lair,

Some danger hovering loads the stagnant air.

It serves to little purpose I may know

That electric law

Whereby the jagged glare and thunder-blow

Latent impulse draw;

No less my danger. Ha! that lightning flash

Proclaims in fire the coming thunder-crash.

But what care I though deluges down pour

Beating earth to mire,

Though heaven shattering with the thunder's roar

Scorcheth now in fire,

Though every planet molten from its place

Should trickle lost through everlasting space;

For this blank prospect, void of all but dread,

Void as any tomb,

My soul has left; and by a lonely bed,

In a girl's sick room,

Hangs there expectant of her parting breath,

The silent voice of doom, the stroke of death.