The Storm And The Bush

There are only two things in the world— The storm in the air and the stretch of green leaves; The flesh of the forest that quivers and heaves As the blast on its bosom is hurled. Above is the whip of the wind That scourges the cowering forest beneath: The Storm spits the hiss of the hail from his teeth, And leaves the world writhing behind! Like a beast that is bound in a cage When the keeper's lash lights and the keeper's goad stings, Each tree his great limbs to his torturer flings In a groaning and impotent rage. As the leaves to a fiercer gust lean The wind throws their undersides upward to sight, And the foam of the forest-sea flashes to white Out over full fathoms of green.