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Robert Laurence Binyon - The Storm
Work rating: Low

Stooping over London, skies convulsed
 With thunder moved: a rumour of storm remote
 Hushed them, and birds flew troubled. The gradual clouds
 Up from the West climbing, above the East
 Glowed sullen as copper embossed; against their gloom,
 Like ghosts astonished, thronged the steeples white.
 Still with absorbed hurry the streets` uproar
 Ran, shadowed by strange unquiet, as vaguely pursued.
 Lone workers from drear windows looked and sighed.
 Nearer drooped the sky`s contracted face;
 The face of a Titan in punishment heavily bowed.
 As painful sweat, the drops fell loud: at last,
 With silent shivering flashes of angry flame,
 Long stifled, his deep thunder burst and groaned.
 Then crawling over, the banks of darkness broke
 And loosened splendour showered its arrows abroad.
 Now, opposite the retreating storm aghast,
 In full--recovered sun, new dazzling clouds,
 Alp beyond Alp, glitter in awful snow.
 Men stop in the street to wonder. The brilliance runs,
 Washing with silent waves the town opprest;
 Startles squalid rooms with a sudden smile;
 Enters gloomy courts, and glories there.
 Strange as a vision the wide expanded heavens
 Open; the living wind with nearness breathes
 On weary faces of women of many cares;
 They stand at their doors and watch with a soothed spirit
 The marvellous West asleep in endless light.
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