XXVI
The farthest thunder that I heardWas nearer than the sky,And rumbles still, though torrid noonsHave lain their missiles by.The lightning that preceded itStruck no one but myself,But I would not exchange the boltFor all the rest of life.Indebtedness to oxygenThe chemist may repay,But not the obligationTo electricity.It founds the homes and decks the days,And every clamor brightIs but the gleam concomitantOf that waylaying light.The thought is quiet as a flake,—A crash without a sound;How life’s reverberationIts explanation found!