So lone I stood, the very trees seemed drawn <br />In conference with themselves.--Intense--intense <br />Seemed everything;--the summer splendor on <br />The sight,--magnificence! <br /> <br />A babe's life might not lighter fail and die <br />Than failed the sunlight--Though the hour was noon, <br />The palm of midnight might not lighter lie <br />Upon the brow of June. <br /> <br />With eyes upraised, I saw the underwings <br />Of swallows--gone the instant afterward-- <br />While from the elms there came strange twitterings, <br />Stilled scarce ere they were heard. <br /> <br />The river seemed to shiver; and, far down <br />Its darkened length, I saw the sycamores <br />Lean inward closer, under the vast frown <br />That weighed above the shores. <br /> <br />Then was a roar, born of some awful burst!-- <br />And one lay, shrieking, chattering, in my path-- <br />Flung--he or I--out of some space accurst <br />As of Jehovah's wrath: <br /> <br />Nor barely had he wreaked his latest prayer, <br />Ere back the noon flashed o'er the ruin done, <br />And, o'er uprooted forests touseled there, <br />The birds sang in the sun.<br /><br />James Whitcomb Riley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-cyclone/
