The Storm

Long, long the stormwind blew, and wild. —
He turned to look at me: he smiled;
But mockery was there, and scorn.
Ah, how my very heart was torn!

Long, long it blew, with dust for rain.—
"Be kind, and come to me again."
He came not, neither went his way;
And long in pensive thought I lay.

On still it blew, with storm-clouds black;
Scarce light there was, so dense the pack.
Wakeful I lay, nor closed mine eyes;
And anxious thought brought fitful sighs.

Black and more black yet grew the gloom;
Then came loud thunder, boom on boom.
Awake I lay, all sleep was fled,
And anxious thought my fever fed.