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Herman Melville - Misgivings
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When ocean-clouds over inland hills 
      Sweep storming in late autumn brown, 
   And horror the sodden valley fills, 
      And the spire falls crashing in the town, 
   I muse upon my country`s ills— 
   The tempest burning from the waste of Time 
On the world`s fairest hope linked with man`s foulest crime. 

   Nature`s dark side is heeded now— 
      (Ah! optimist-cheer dishartened flown)— 
   A child may read the moody brow 
      Of yon black mountain lone. 
   With shouts the torrents down the gorges go, 
   And storms are formed behind the storms we feel: 
The hemlock shakes in the rafter, the oak in the driving keel.
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