Lucile By Owen Meredith [i.e. E. R. B. Lytton] |
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Lucile | ||
XII.
There is war in the skies!Lo! the black-wingèd legions of tempest arise
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In the soft light, so fair and so fatal, as though
Some seraph burn'd through them, the thunderbolt searching
Which the black cloud unbosom'd just now. Lo! the lurching
And shivering pine-trees, like phantoms, that seem
To waver above, in the dark; and yon stream,
How it hurries and roars, on its way to the white
And paralysed lake there, appall'd at the sight
Of the things seen in heaven!
Lucile | ||