Sonnet XVIII: An Evening in November, Which Had Been Stormy, Gradually Clearing Up, in a Mountainous Country

Ceas'd is the rain; but heavy drops yet fall
From the drench'd roof;--yet murmurs the sunk wind
Round the dim hills; can yet a passage find
Whistling thro' yon cleft rock, and ruin'd wall.
The swoln and angry torrents heard, appal,
Tho' distant.--A few stars, emerging kind,
Shed their green, trembling beams.--With lustre small,
The moon, her swiftly-passing clouds behind,
Glides o'er that shaded hill.--Now blasts remove
The shadowing clouds, and on the mountain's brow,
Full-orb'd, she shines.--Half sunk within its cove
Heaves the lone boat, with gulphing sound;--and lo!
Bright rolls the settling lake, and brimming rove
The vale's blue rills, and glitter as they flow.