IT is a storm-strid night, winds footing swift Through the blind profound; I know the happenings from their sound; Leaves totter down still green, and spin and drift; The tree-trunks rock to their roots, which wrench and lift The loam where they run onward underground. The streams are muddy and swollen; eels migrate To a new abode; Even cross, 'tis said, the turnpike-road; (Men's feet have felt their crawl, home-coming late): The westward fronts of towers are saturate, Church-timbers crack, and witches ride abroad. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NIGHTMARE, FR. IOLANTHE by WILLIAM SCHWENCK GILBERT WHEN LET BY RAIN by EDWARD TAYLOR MORNING STAR by IDA MAY BORNCAMP BENEDICTION by VALERY YAKOVLEVICH BRYUSOV EPISTLE TO MAJOR LOGAN by ROBERT BURNS FOUR EPISTLES: MIRACLE AT THE FEAST OF PENTECOST: 1 by JOHN BYROM |