The Poetical Works of William Motherwell/To the Tempest
To the Tempest.
Chaunt on, ye stormy voices, loud and shrill
Your wild tumultuous melody—strip
The forest of its clothing—leave it bare,
As a deserted and world-trampled foundling!
Lash on, ye rains, and pour your tide of might
Unceasingly and strong, and blench the Earth's
Green mantle with your floods: Suddenly swell
The brawling torrent in the sleep-locked night,
That it may deluge the subjacent plain,
And spread destruction where security
Had fondly built its faith, and knelt before
The altar of its refuge—Sweep ye down
Palace and mansion, hall and lofty tower,
And creeping shed, into one common grave!
Ye lightnings that are flashing fitfully—
(Heaven's messengers) askant the lurid sky,
Burst forth in one vast sheet of whelming fire—
Pass through the furnace the base lords of earth,
With subtile fury inextinguishable—
That, purified, they may again appear
As erst they were, free of soul-searing sin
And worldly-mindedness! For mailed they be,
Obdurate all, in selfish adamant,
So rivetted, that it would need a fire
Potential as the ever-burning pit,
To overcome and melt it, so that hearts
Might beat and spirits move to chords sublime,
Tuned by the hand of the Omnipotent,
As when man, from His Hands, in His beauty came!