STORM had been on the hills. The day had worn As if a sleep upon the hours had crept; And the dark clouds that gather'd at the morn In dull, impenetrable masses slept, And the wet leaves hung droopingly, and all Was like the mournful aspect of a pall. Suddenly, on the horizon's edge, a blue And delicate line, as of a pencil, lay, And, as it wider and intenser grew, The darkness removed silently away, And, with the splendor of a God, broke through The perfect glory of departing day: So, when his stormy pilgrimage is o'er, Will light upon the dying Christian pour. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EARTH'S ANSWER, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE ODE TO THE CUCKOO by MICHAEL BRUCE SONNET: 46 by WILLIAM DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN HYMN: FIRST SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY: 2 by REGINALD HEBER ANTHEM FOR DOOMED YOUTH by WILFRED OWEN |