Tempest

The trees before the coming storm
Toss, wild as leaping Corybants
Who fling to Cybele an arm
Of rapture, and a face that pants
Through hair the ritual frenzy slants.

Vague, stormy shapes of tempest sit,
August, majestic, and immense,
Beneath the stars--as, lightning-lit,
A god might give wild audience
To awe and night and violence.

Storm is her signet; hers, who writes
Stern laws in flame; and, shadowy,
With thunder seals the rolled-out nights,
And sits in terrible mystery--
The mountain-crownéd Cybele.