Now the world grows weak again, the sinewed woods are all astrain, And Tempest in his ecstasy on horn or pipe or harp or drum Makes his mad asymphony; he runs like wild hogs, stops like a child, Shrieks like a warning water-bird, and mutters @3fee@1 and @3fo@1 and @3fum.@1 Now through all this travail fierce one sunbeam does not fail to pierce The spider-curtained darkness in the attic of black Jacob's farm, And finds up there the purple phial that waits this glance: the sun's espial Is not alone: the poor soul there espies as well the lurking charm. @3Gods,@1 she cries, tiptoes and takes, and glaring opens, sniffs and shakes, While on her soul the stormsong bursts, and groanings knell through roof and flue; Clashing gloom is whirled across, she drinks, and smashes the cold glass, And sneers as one great laugh or gust huffs down the writhing avenue. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BONNYBELL: THE GRAY SPHEX by EDGAR LEE MASTERS AN ISLAND (SAINT HELENA, 1821) by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON IN THE UNDERWORLD by ISAAC ROSENBERG THE AKOND [OR, AKHOND] OF SWAT by EDWARD LEAR THE SECRET OF THE SEA by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE CARD-DEALER by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI |