His face was charged with beauty as a cloud <br />With glimmering lightning. When it shadowed me <br />I shook, and was uneasy as a tree <br />That draws the brilliant danger, tremulous, bowed. <br /> <br /> <br />So must I tempt that face to loose its lightning. <br />Great gods, whose beauty is death, will laugh above, <br />Who made his beauty lovelier than love. <br />I shall be bright with their unearthly brightening. <br /> <br /> <br />And happier were it if my sap consume; <br />Glorious will shine the opening of my heart; <br />The land shall freshen that was under gloom; <br />What matter if all men cry aloud and start, <br />And women hide bleak faces in their shawl, <br />At those hilarious thunders of my fall?<br /><br />Wilfred Owen<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/storm-75/
