Poems (Gould, 1833)/The Dying Storm
THE DYING STORM.
I am feeble, pale and weary, And my wings are nearly furled!I have caused a scene so dreary, I am glad to quit the world!With bitterness I 'm thinking On the evil I have done,;And to my caverns sinking From the coming of the sun.
The heart of man will sicken In that pure and holy light,When he feels the hopes I 've stricken With an everlasting blight!For widely, in my madness, Have I poured abroad my wrath;And, changing joy to sadness, Scattered ruin on my path.
Earth shuddered at my motion, And my power in silence owns;But the deep and troubled ocean O'er my deeds of horror moans!I have sunk the brightest treasure; I 've destroyed the fairest form:I have sadly filled my measure, And am now a dying storm!