Nature that day a woman was in weakness, <br />A woman in her impotent high wrath. <br />At the dawn we watched it, a low cloud half seen <br />Under the sun; an innocent child's face <br />It seemed to us rose--red and fringed with light <br />Boding no hurt, a pure translucent cloud, <br />Deep in the East where the Sun's disk began. <br />We did not guess what strengths in it were pent, <br />What terrors of rebellion. An hour more, <br />And it had gathered volume and the form <br />Of a dark mask, the she--wolf's of old Rome, <br />The ears, the brow, the cold unpitying eyes, <br />Through which gleams flashed. And, as we watched, the roll <br />Of thunder from a red throat muttering <br />Gave menace of the wild beast close at hand. <br />Anon a wall of darkness in the South <br />Black to the Zenith, and a far--off wail, <br />The wind among the trees.--And then, behold, <br />Flying before it a mad clamorous rout <br />Of peewits, starlings, hawks, crows, dishwashers, <br />Blackbirds and jays, by hundreds, scattering, <br />While the Earth trembled holding as it were its breath; <br />Till suddenly an answer from the ground, <br />And the fields shook and a new mighty roar <br />Crashed through the oaks, and in a pent--up flow <br />The storm's rage broke in thunder overhead, <br />And all the anger of the passionate heaven <br />Burst into tears.<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-storm-in-summer/
