'Oh father, let us hence--for hark, <br />A fearful murmur shakes the air. <br />The clouds are coming swift and dark:-- <br />What horrid shapes they wear! <br />A winged giant sails the sky; <br />Oh father, father, let us fly!' <br /> <br />'Hush, child; it is a grateful sound, <br />That beating of the summer shower; <br />Here, where the boughs hang close around, <br />We'll pass a pleasant hour, <br />Till the fresh wind, that brings the rain, <br />Has swept the broad heaven clear again.' <br /> <br />'Nay, father, let us haste--for see, <br />That horrid thing with horned brow,-- <br />His wings o'erhang this very tree, <br />He scowls upon us now; <br />His huge black arm is lifted high; <br />Oh father, father, let us fly!' <br /> <br />'Hush, child;' but, as the father spoke, <br />Downward the livid firebolt came, <br />Close to his ear the thunder broke, <br />And, blasted by the flame, <br />The child lay dead; while dark and still, <br />Swept the grim cloud along the hill.<br /><br />William Cullen Bryant<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-presentiment-2/
