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Coventry Patmore - The Storm
Work rating: Low

Within the pale blue haze above,
              Some pitchy shreds took size and form,
              And, like a madman`s wrath or love,
              From nothing rose a sudden storm.
              The blossom`d limes, which seem`d to exhale
              Her breath, were swept with one strong sweep,
              And up the dusty road the hail
              Came like a flock of hasty sheep,
              Driving me under a cottage-porch,
               Whence I could see the distant Spire,
               Which, in the darkness, seem`d a torch
               Touch`d with the sun`s retreating fire.
               A voice, so sweet that even her voice,
               I thought, could scarcely be more sweet,
               As thus I stay`d against my choice,
               Did mine attracted hearing greet;
               And presently I turn`d my head
               Where the kind music seem`d to be,
               And where, to an old blind man, she read
               The words that teach the blind to see.
               She did not mark me; swift I went,
               Thro` the fierce shower`s whistle and smoke,
               To her home, and thence her woman sent
               Back with umbrella, shoes and cloak.     
               The storm soon pass`d; the sun`s quick glare
               Lay quench`d in vapour fleecy, fray`d;
               And all the moist, delicious air
               Was fill`d with shine that cast no shade;
               And, when she came, forth the sun gleam`d,
               And clash`d the trembling Minster chimes;
               And the breath with which she thank`d me seem`d
               Brought thither from the blossom`d limes.
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