Poems: Second Series (Dickinson)/Storm

by Emily Dickinson

For works with similar titles, see Storm.

XXXIV.

STORM.

IT sounded as if the streets were running,
And then the streets stood still.
Eclipse was all we could see at the window,
And awe was all we could feel.

By and by the boldest stole out of his covert,
To see if time was there.
Nature was in her beryl apron,
Mixing fresher air.