So lone I stood, the very trees seemed drawn
In conference with themselves.— Intense — intense
Seemed everything;— the summer splendor on
The sight,— magnificence!
A babe's life might not lighter fail and die
Than failed the sunlight — Though the hour was noon,
The palm of midnight might not lighter lie
Upon the brow of June.
With eyes upraised, I saw the underwings
Of swallows — gone the instant afterward —
While from the elms there came strange twitterings,
Stilled scarce ere they were heard.
The river seemed to shiver; and, far down
Its darkened length, I saw the sycamores
Lean inward closer, under the vast frown
That weighed above the shores.
Then was a roar, born of some awful burst!—
And one lay, shrieking, chattering, in my path —
Flung — he or I — out of some space accurst
As of Jehovah's wrath:
Nor barely had he wreaked his latest prayer,
Ere back the noon flashed o'er the ruin done,
And, o'er uprooted forests touseled there,
The birds sang in the sun.