ALL day the blast, with furious ramp and roar, Sweeps the gaunt hill-tops, piles the vapors high, Thro' infinite distance, up the tortured sky -- Till to one nurtured on the ocean-shore, It seems -- with eyes half-shut to hill and moor -- The anguished sea waves' multitudinous cry -- It changes! deepening . . Christ! what agony Doth some doomed spirit on these wild winds outpour! At last a lull! stirred by slow wafts of air! When lo! o'er dismal wastes of stormy wreck, Cloud-wrought, an awful form and face abhorred! Thine, thine, Iscariot! smitten by mad despair, With lurid eyeballs strained, and writhing neck, Round which is coiled a blood-red phantom cord! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ENVOI: DEATH (2) by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) TORREY PINES by CHARLES GRANGER BLANDEN THE PARSON'S LOOKS by ROBERT BURNS ADDRESS SPOKEN AT THE OPENING OF THE DRURY-LANE THEATRE by GEORGE GORDON BYRON CHRIST WRITES IN THE SAND by LUCY CULRIGHT |