Within the pale blue haze above, <br />Some pitchy shreds took size and form, <br />And, like a madman's wrath or love, <br />From nothing rose a sudden storm. <br />The blossom'd limes, which seem'd to exhale <br />Her breath, were swept with one strong sweep, <br />And up the dusty road the hail <br />Came like a flock of hasty sheep, <br />Driving me under a cottage-porch, <br />Whence I could see the distant Spire, <br />Which, in the darkness, seem'd a torch <br />Touch'd with the sun's retreating fire. <br />A voice, so sweet that even her voice, <br />I thought, could scarcely be more sweet, <br />As thus I stay'd against my choice, <br />Did mine attracted hearing greet; <br />And presently I turn'd my head <br />Where the kind music seem'd to be, <br />And where, to an old blind man, she read <br />The words that teach the blind to see. <br />She did not mark me; swift I went, <br />Thro' the fierce shower's whistle and smoke, <br />To her home, and thence her woman sent <br />Back with umbrella, shoes and cloak. <br />The storm soon pass'd; the sun's quick glare <br />Lay quench'd in vapour fleecy, fray'd; <br />And all the moist, delicious air <br />Was fill'd with shine that cast no shade; <br />And, when she came, forth the sun gleam'd, <br />And clash'd the trembling Minster chimes; <br />And the breath with which she thank'd me seem'd <br />Brought thither from the blossom'd limes.<br /><br />Coventry Patmore<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-storm-94/
