The earth is black. Sky-waterfalls have drowned
The day, so that it’s night already. Night...
Cascading roars self-tumble down the night,
The rolling echoes of cloud-timpani
Careering through the dark, like massive mold-
Besotted logs that thunder down a hill
Unstoppably. They quake the earth. It shakes.
Its shivers, friendless in the deluge, are
Illumined by the sky’s electric rage:—
The lightning-bullets penetrate the mud!
They splash the night a bluish glare and then
Are gone, as if to prove that ghosts exist.
The sudden frozen sky-dividing flare,
Is echoed in the boom that cracks, ruptures
The caul of Chaos, all birth-bloody and hideous.
A branch smashes a window somewhere near,
Wind-torn from its old socket in a tree—
Or maybe lightning-severed. The telephone-line
Outside explodes in sparks, thus cutting off
Communication and reducing life
To huddled silence dimly candle-lit.
Cowering in the corner, far from windows,
And cringing when the cannons overhead
Let loose their rounds. There is no sleep tonight.