ALL day the blast, with furious ramp and roar, Sweeps the gaunt hill-tops, piles the vapors high, Thro' infinite distance, up the tortured sky -- Till to one nurtured on the ocean-shore, It seems -- with eyes half-shut to hill and moor -- The anguished sea waves' multitudinous cry -- It changes! deepening . . Christ! what agony Doth some doomed spirit on these wild winds outpour! At last a lull! stirred by slow wafts of air! When lo! o'er dismal wastes of stormy wreck, Cloud-wrought, an awful form and face abhorred! Thine, thine, Iscariot! smitten by mad despair, With lurid eyeballs strained, and writhing neck, Round which is coiled a blood-red phantom cord! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON THE BUILDING OF SPRINGFIELD by NICHOLAS VACHEL LINDSAY THE VALLEY OF FERN: PART 2 by BERNARD BARTON ST. PAUL'S RENOVATED by CHARLES WILLIAM BRODRIBB ALL THESE MAKE MUSIC by ANNA SHAW BUCK NAPOLEON'S TOMB by DANA BURNET LETTER TO JOHN GOUDIE, KILMARNOCK by ROBERT BURNS HEROES by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON |