Poems (Mansfield)/The Storm
THE STORM
I ran to the forest for shelter,Breathless, half sobbing;I put my arms round a tree,Pillowed my head against the rough bark."Protect me," I said. "I am a lost child."But the tree showered silver drops on my face and hair.A wind sprang up from the ends of the earth;It lashed the forest together.A huge green wave thundered and burst over my head.I prayed, implored, "Please take care of me!"But the wind pulled at my cloak and the rain beat upon me.Little rivers tore up the ground and swamped the bushes.A frenzy possessed the earth: I felt that the earth was drowningIn a bubbling cavern of space. I alone—Smaller than the smallest fly—was alive and terrified. Then, for what reason I know not, I became triumphant,"Well, kill me!" I cried and ran out into the open.But the storm ceased: the sun spread his wingsAnd floated serene in the silver pool of the sky.I put my hands over my face: I was blushing.And the trees swung together and delicately laughed. 1911.