“Storm”

The rain was blown in blinding sheets, that swept

            The rattling windows and the quaking door.

            Up the rock cliffs along the rugged shore

The ocean waves, like hungry wild beasts, leapt,

And fell, and leapt again, and fell,―then crept

            Back, conquered, sobbing, down the tide’s black floor.

            The gusts of wind swelled to a strong, hoarse roar,

Or shrieked about the lonely eaves―and kept

A weird tune shrilling in the chimney’s throat.

            So raged the storm. . . till night wore into day,

            Bringing a peaceful flow to East and West;

A wide, calm sea; a lull; a bird’s glad note,

            And spent winds resting. . . . So, dear God, I pray,

            After life’s feverish passions―rest, sweet rest!

 

“Storm” as it appears in Higginson’s When the Birds Go North Again (1898).

A draft of “Storm,” courtesy of the Ella Higginson Papers, Center for Pacific Northwest Studies, Heritage Resources, Western Washington University, Bellingham Washington.

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