Eastern Tempest
That flying angel's torrent cryWill hurl the mountains through the sky!A wind like fifty winds at onceThrough the bedragoned kingdom runs,An army of rain slants icy stingsAt many a wretch afield who clingsHis cloak of straw, with glistening spinesLike a prodigious porcupine's.The reptile grasses by his pathWind sleek as unction from that WrathWhich with a glassy claw uprootsThe broad-leaved kiri, flays and lootsTorn and snarled sinews, leaves for deadThe young crops with the shining head,While blotched blunt melons darkly dotThe slaughtered swathes like cannon-shot.The lotus in each pond upheavesIts sacred, slow, appealing leaves,And many a bush with wrestling jerkDefies the daemon's murderous work—Yet nature $tares white-lipped, to readIn Chance's eye what desperate deed? A kinder god discerns, replies,And stills the land's storm-shouts to sighs;The clouds in massy folds apartDisclose the day's bright bleeding heart,Huge plumes and scarves black-tossing wide
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