The Conservative (Lovecraft)/July 1923/The Storm

Beware! Beware! that sullen cloud,
The Tempest’s ebon form,
Though deathly still....its darkness dense
Is herald of a wrath intense....
The calm before the storm.

Hark to the distant moaning sound,
The soul with dread it fills;
The trees are trembling with affright,
As the wind shrieks out of the dismal night,
And echoes through the hills

Behold the raging tempest’s might,
The heav’ns are streak’d with fire.
The lightning paints its lurid scars,
The thunder bursts its prison bars,
So fierce the storm king’s ire.

Lash’d by the gale, the once calm sea
Now writhes in tortur’d pain,
The foam-capp’d billows roar with rage,
And fierce in fight with the shore engage,
But rear their crests in vain.

Stay! but stay! the scene is chang’d,
All, now, is ere and calm;
The driven clouds have ceas’d their tears,
The Earth hath cast away her fears,
Peace reigns where once alarm.