Fragment Ii Poem by Philip Henry Savage

WESTWARD I walked; the sun was low; the plain,
Seeming to rise before me, with the earth
Revolving, rolling backward to the east,
Shut out the dropping sun. I hastened on,
But still the day grew darker as the west
Drew in its last, white, fading fan of light,
And all the world was cold; and when the land
Ceased to reflect the sky, and heavy lay,
And dully, by itself, I came where spread
A darkling mirror, whitened half, and blue,
Still cherishing a faint thought of the sky.
The hour was calm, forgetful of the day,
Where toward the noon the pattering rain did beat
The fragrant earth; a soft green mist arose
And lay across the opening fields; and then,
Sweeping the huddled air around the world
The silver storm scowled black; o'er all the sky
It tore itself in fury and ran low
Across the shuddering earth; it seized the trees,
It seized the mountains in its gloomy hands
And shook them; while the terror stricken streams
Leaped madly on to aid the warring sea.
Then in the thronging blackness of the storm
I had rejoiced, as now I smiled to see
The fair, white, gentle surface of the lake
And feel the air fall softly; at my feet
The waters rose like coming thoughts that fall
Forgotten, and my mind rose till it ran
As smoothly as the yet unbroken wave.