Poem by Paul Hamilton Hayne

After the Tornado

LAST eve the earth was calm, the heavens were clear;
A peaceful glory crowned the waning west,
And yonder distant mountain's hoary crest
The semblance of a silvery robe did wear,
Shot through with moon-wrought tissues; far and near
Wood, rivulet, field--all Nature's face--expressed
The haunting presence of enchanted rest.
One twilight star shone like a blissful tear,
Unshed. But now, what ravage in a night!
Yon mountain height fades in its cloud-girt pall;
The prostrate wood lies smirched with rain and mire;
Through the shorn fields the brook whirls, wild and white;
While o'er the turbulent waste and woodland fall,
Glares the red sunrise, blurred with mists of fire!

1. An Idle Poet, Dreaming in the Sun
2. Along the Path Thy Bleeding Feet Have Trod
3. Baby’s First Word
4. A Phantom in the Clouds
5. “The Old Man of the Sea”

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