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The Rising Of The Storm

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        THE RISING OF THE STORM

   The lake's dark breast
   Is all unrest,
It heaves with a sob and a sigh.
   Like a tremulous bird,
   From its slumber stirred,
The moon is a-tilt in the sky.

   From the silent deep
   The waters sweep,
But faint on the cold white stones,
   And the wavelets fly
   With a plaintive cry
O'er the old earth's bare, bleak bones.

   And the spray upsprings
   On its ghost-white wings,
And tosses a kiss at the stars;
   While a water-sprite,
   In sea-pearls dight,
Hums a sea-hymn's solemn bars.

   Far out in the night,
   On the wavering sight
I see a dark hull loom;
   And its light on high,
   Like a Cyclops' eye,
Shines out through the mist and gloom.

   Now the winds well up
   From the earth's deep cup,
And fall on the sea and shore,
   And against the pier
   The waters rear
And break with a sullen roar.

   Up comes the gale,
   And the mist-wrought veil
Gives way to the lightning's glare,
   And the cloud-drifts fall,
   A sombre pall,
O'er water, earth, and air.

   The storm-king flies,
   His whip he plies,
And bellows down the wind.
   The lightning rash
   With blinding flash
Comes pricking on behind.

   Rise, waters, rise,
   And taunt the skies
With your swift-flitting form.
   Sweep, wild winds, sweep,
   And tear the deep
To atoms in the storm.

   And the waters leapt,
   And the wild winds swept,
And blew out the moon in the sky,
   And I laughed with glee,
   It was joy to me
As the storm went raging by!

This work was published before January 1, 1924, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.