Poems (May)/Storm at twilight
STORM AT TWILIGHT.
The roar of a chafed lion in his lair Begirt by levelled spears! A sudden flash, Intense, yet wavering, like a beast's fierce eye Searching the darkness. The wild bay of winds Sweeps the burnt plains of heaven, and from afar, Linked clouds are riding up like eager horsemen, Javelin in hand. From the moth wings of twilight There falls unwonted shadow, and strange gloom Cloisters the unwilling stars. The sky is roofed With tempest, and the moon's scant rays fall through Like light let dimly through the fissured rock Vaulting a cavern. To the horizon, The green sea of the forest has rolled back Its levelled billows, and where mast-like trees Sway to its bosom, here and there, a vine Braced to some pine's bare shaft, clings, rocked aloft Like a bold mariner! There is no bough But lifteth an appealing arm to heaven. The scudding grass is shivering as it flies,And herbs and flowers crouch to their mother earth Like frightened children. 'Tis more terrible, When the near thunder speaks, and the fleet wind Stops like a steed that knows his rider's voice; For, oh, the hush that follows is the calm Of a despairing heart, and, as a maniac Loses his grief in raving, the mad storm, Weeping fast tears, awakens with a sob From its blank desolation, and shrieks on!