Oh city, whom grey stormy hands have sown, <br />With restless drift, scarce broken now of any, <br />Out of the dark thy windows dim and many <br />Gleam red across the storm. Sound is there none, <br />Save evermore the fierce wind's sweep and moan, <br />From whose grey hands the keen white snow is shaken <br />In desperate gusts, that fitfully lull and waken, <br />Dense as night's darkness round they towers of stone. <br /> <br />Darkling and strange art thou thus vexed and chidden; <br />More dark and strange thy veiled agony, <br />City of storm, in whose grey heart are hidden <br />What stormier woes, what lives that groan and beat, <br />Stern and thin-cheeked, against time's heavier sleet, <br />Rude fates, hard hearts, and prisoning poverty.<br /><br />Archibald Lampman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-night-of-storm/
