Here you will find thePoemA Storm In Summerof poet Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Nature that day a woman was in weakness, A woman in her impotent high wrath. At the dawn we watched it, a low cloud half seen Under the sun; an innocent child's face It seemed to us rose--red and fringed with light Boding no hurt, a pure translucent cloud, Deep in the East where the Sun's disk began. We did not guess what strengths in it were pent, What terrors of rebellion. An hour more, And it had gathered volume and the form Of a dark mask, the she--wolf's of old Rome, The ears, the brow, the cold unpitying eyes, Through which gleams flashed. And, as we watched, the roll Of thunder from a red throat muttering Gave menace of the wild beast close at hand. Anon a wall of darkness in the South Black to the Zenith, and a far--off wail, The wind among the trees.--And then, behold, Flying before it a mad clamorous rout Of peewits, starlings, hawks, crows, dishwashers, Blackbirds and jays, by hundreds, scattering, While the Earth trembled holding as it were its breath; Till suddenly an answer from the ground, And the fields shook and a new mighty roar Crashed through the oaks, and in a pent--up flow The storm's rage broke in thunder overhead, And all the anger of the passionate heaven Burst into tears.
