Pebbles and Shells (Hawkes collection)/The Hurricane

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THE HURRICANE
The azure sky grows green like ocean's brine,The listless air is hot and strangely still,And yet there comes a momentary thrill,As of the coming storm, to give a sign;The lowering clouds have gathered into line,Their dark array enfolds the distant hill,And on the air, so suddenly grown chill,There comes the moaning of the rocking pine;Then clouds of leaves and dust sweep down the lane,Close followed by the howling hurricane.Swift forked lightnings twist their snake-like formsAmong the clouds, and fill the sky with dread;Deep throated thunders bellow overheadAnd all things bow before the King of Storms.

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