Glum is the sky, by night imprisoned, <br />As over it the dark clouds creep, <br />Not menacing or wistful is it, <br />But plunged in dreary, torpid sleep. <br />Alone the streaks of lightning, bursting <br />Through cloud and shadow, seem to be, <br />As they flare up and blaze, conversing <br />Like deaf-mute demons soundlessly. <br /> <br />As at a signal, for an instant <br />A strip of sky is lit, and Lo! - <br />From out the murk the forests distant <br />Emerge, set suddenly aglow. <br />But the light dies, the darkness fleeing <br />That cloaks the startled, wakeful sky, <br />And all is still... Is a plot being <br />Hatched in the silent wastes on high?..<br /><br />Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/gum-is-the-sky/
