The landscape, like the awed face of a child, <br />Grew curiously blurred; a hush of death <br />Fell on the fields, and in the darkened wild <br />The zephyr held its breath. <br /> <br />No wavering glamour-work of light and shade <br />Dappled the shivering surface of the brook; <br />The frightened ripples in their ambuscade <br />Of willows thrilled and shook. <br /> <br />The sullen day grew darker, and anon <br />Dim flashes of pent anger lit the sky; <br />With rumbling wheels of wrath came rolling on <br />The storm's artillery. <br /> <br />The cloud above put on its blackest frown, <br />And then, as with a vengeful cry of pain, <br />The lightning snatched it, ripped and flung it down <br />In ravelled shreds of rain: <br /> <br />While I, transfigured by some wondrous art, <br />Bowed with the thirsty lilies to the sod, <br />My empty soul brimmed over, and my heart <br />Drenched with the love of God.<br /><br />James Whitcomb Riley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-shower-6/
