First came the tempest, and the world was torn
Upon its mighty passion — all the deep
Trembled before it. From the haggard steep
To the sweet valley with its brooding corn,
Its foaming lips in expletives of scorn
Lashed into life the world's eternal sleep;
Then, caught with madness, in gigantic leap
Expired upon the heights where it was born.
And then a hush — the dripping, tender rain
Falls in warm tears. The thunder could not wake
The grief that silence in her soul has furled.
Soft sighs the wind, the sea is gray with pain —
The fulness of a heart too tense to break —
And deep, unuttered sadness in the world.