Poems (Sharpless)/Storm on the Hills
STORM ON THE HILLS
The awful spirits of the storm Gather among the hills;The quiet vales, the shuddering woods Their muttering menace fills.And plunging down the rocky steep, While hurrying to the distant main,The torrent pauses, ere his leap, To answer them again.
Dismayed at the dark rolling clouds, My heart's dear friend and ISeek out a small, deserted hut Until the storm pass by.No more I heed the wild alarm, No more for angry tempests care,My world is circled in my arm, And sunshine smileth there.