XXVI
The Storm
There came a wind like a bugle;It quivered through the grass,And a green chill upon the heatSo ominous did passWe barred the windows and the doorsAs from an emerald ghost;The doom’s electric moccasonThat very instant passed.On a strange mob of panting trees,And fences fled away,And rivers where the houses ranThe living looked that day.The bell within the steeple wildThe flying tidings whirled.How much can comeAnd much can go,And yet abide the world!