Coventry Patmore

(23 July 1823 - 26 November 1896 / Essex, England)

The Storm - Poem by Coventry Patmore

Within the pale blue haze above,
Some pitchy shreds took size and form,
And, like a madman's wrath or love,
From nothing rose a sudden storm.
The blossom'd limes, which seem'd to exhale
Her breath, were swept with one strong sweep,
And up the dusty road the hail
Came like a flock of hasty sheep,
Driving me under a cottage-porch,
Whence I could see the distant Spire,
Which, in the darkness, seem'd a torch
Touch'd with the sun's retreating fire.
A voice, so sweet that even her voice,
I thought, could scarcely be more sweet,
As thus I stay'd against my choice,
Did mine attracted hearing greet;
And presently I turn'd my head
Where the kind music seem'd to be,
And where, to an old blind man, she read
The words that teach the blind to see.
She did not mark me; swift I went,
Thro' the fierce shower's whistle and smoke,
To her home, and thence her woman sent
Back with umbrella, shoes and cloak.
The storm soon pass'd; the sun's quick glare
Lay quench'd in vapour fleecy, fray'd;
And all the moist, delicious air
Was fill'd with shine that cast no shade;
And, when she came, forth the sun gleam'd,
And clash'd the trembling Minster chimes;
And the breath with which she thank'd me seem'd
Brought thither from the blossom'd limes.


Comments about The Storm by Coventry Patmore

There is no comment submitted by members..



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?



Poem Submitted: Wednesday, April 14, 2010



[Report Error]