 | Poems by Miss H. F. Gould |  |
59
THE DYING STORM.
I am feeble, pale and weary,
And my wings are nearly furled!
I have caused a scene so dreary,
I am glad to quit the world!
With bitterness I'm thinking
On the evil I have done,
And to my caverns sinking
From the coming of the sun.
And my wings are nearly furled!
I have caused a scene so dreary,
I am glad to quit the world!
With bitterness I'm thinking
On the evil I have done,
And to my caverns sinking
From the coming of the sun.
The heart of man will sicken
In that pure and holy light,
When he feels the hopes I've stricken
With an everlasting blight!
For widely, in my madness,
Have I poured abroad my wrath;
And, changing joy to sadness,
Scattered ruin on my path.
In that pure and holy light,
When he feels the hopes I've stricken
With an everlasting blight!
For widely, in my madness,
Have I poured abroad my wrath;
And, changing joy to sadness,
Scattered ruin on my path.
Earth shuddered at my motion,
And my power in silence owns;
But the deep and troubled ocean
O'er my deeds of horror moans!
I have sunk the brightest treasure;
I've destroyed the fairest form:
I have sadly filled my measure,
And am now a dying storm!
And my power in silence owns;
But the deep and troubled ocean
O'er my deeds of horror moans!
I have sunk the brightest treasure;
I've destroyed the fairest form:
I have sadly filled my measure,
And am now a dying storm!
| Poems by Miss H. F. Gould | |