  I.A storm from the mountain is coming, With lightning and thunder and rain, The wind is sweeping and humming In the butternut trees on the plain. The cloud is ebon that follows, The fore-cloud is livid and pale, There’s the flash and the tossing of swallows In the turn of the eddying gale. The rain is awake on the mountain, ’T is lashing the forest afar With fall of a shattering fountain And the tramp and tumult of war, And the clang in the bugles of wind, With the gonfalons tortured asunder By the rush of the host from behind. The plains are leaping with shadows, The highlands go out like a blot, And over the eddying meadows The rain is hurtled like shot. The darkness is glooming and brightening, There is alternate chaos and form, With the parry and thrust of the lightning In the turbulent heart of the storm. II.Now the storm is over, And the greener plain Seems to glow and hover Through the thinning rain. Now the wind is gusty In the maple tops, Striking out the lusty Storms of gleaming drops. Now the goldfinch whistles In his spattered vest, Balanced on the thistles, Bolder than the best. And the hermit thrushes On the sparkling hills, Link the dripping hushes With their silver thrills.
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