After The Storm

The storm is done--the lightning with its lust To rend the unhallowed dome in ruin dire; The purple heaps, from the rank chaos thrust On sheets of fell and inauspicious fire; The thunder bellowing loud on every bound; The hissing bolt, so tossed as to complete All permutations of Satanic sound; The flood that opened heaven and ransomed it. Benign now is that beatific blue. The flame that fires the hill is now remote From aught in evil. Clemency anew --Crowns every leaf, and sings in every throat. Shall, then, the rage of earth and heaven depart, And not the rancour of the unsensing heart?