The Storm

A frightful night, I say, When thunders hiss in clouds above, As bottled fire in weary play Of life, awake to love.

And when the Queen of Shadows reigns With flying ink, adorn’d Upon each black outline, where stains Inflict—the strokes are mourn’d.

Yet at the hate that filled the air My spirit beat with pride, So that I felt the crags, a share, Of thunder break beside; But every spirit trembled then, In darkness met no sound, Except of ruin kept at bay, Whose flight was but around.

And when I feel the end has come, I wish for dawn most high, Because the world will break to bloom, And from us vanish nigh.

To live when every fear shall cease, The day that lifts the soul; Turns me from every haunted woe That storms—fate can control.

• Robert Southey