The Thunder Storm Poem by Albery Allson Whitman

Lo! how the Heavens ponder now,
They look so still and moody!
And every leaf, and every bough,
Are in a dark deep study.


The very air has hushed its breath,
And pauses in its hushing,
To hear the clouds that still as death,
Are out of darkness rushing.


The lightnings in their vivid wrath,
The waving hills a starting,
Deep thro' the cloud-sea cleave a path,
From shore to shore a darting.


Loud thunders roll within the flood,
And night peers on with wonder,
And seems to sigh, in pensive mood,
And whisper, 'hear it thunder!'


Again the thunders shriek aloud,
Far o'er the distance roaring,
And now from every breaking cloud,
The sluicy floods are pouring.


Upon the roof, the dancing drops
Come down with splash and clatter,
The lightnings glare, their music stops -
Now louder 'gins to patter;


As if to catch its breath, the rain
Were, when it thundered, pausing,
Then rushing on to make again
The time it had been losing.