The Song of the Storm

In tired sighs, the clouds do woe

Against the torrent tempest, blow.

Throughout the aching chasms blast

A livid wind so foul and fast,

And all at once, the gods bellow

Their angry smites of hail and snow

Do fall upon innocent lands,

Which cry and howl in whirling sands.

The angels strike at land and fall

Toward the frightened waters, call

Their booming sounds of wave and wing

And with their sacred voices, sing

An outraged song which brings with, storm;

The flustered winds of zest do swarm

Around the naked boughs of wood.

Nature, let not these trees once stood

Upon the flowing hills, but strike

Electric blast, ne’er seen the like

And bring with thunderous bombs, a fire:

Consuming blaze, flaming desire.

And while the earth and sky doth rage

A single bird amidst the stage

Sings a gentle song of death;

Escapes the sky a calming breath,

And all at once, the clouds doth part

The scarrèd lands of love and heart

Witness a single beam of light

Escaping through the clouds, it might

Reach an awestruck, lonely eye

Watching the light contrast the sky

And in this moment pure and still

A song is heard over the hill,

A silent, simple hymn of love;

A bright white dove is seen above

And in the day the rage doth cease,

And brings, with its departure, peace.