By Nathaniel Parker Willis.
From The Poems, Sacred, Passionate, and Humorous, by Nathaniel Parker Willis.
STORM had been on the hills. The day had worn
As if a sleep upon the hours had crept;
And the dark clouds that gather’d at the morn
In dull, impenetrable masses slept,
And the wet leaves hung droopingly, and all
Was like the mournful aspect of a pall.
Suddenly, on the horizon’s edge, a blue
And delicate line, as of a pencil, lay,
And, as it wider and intenser grew,
The darkness removed silently away,
And, with the splendor of a God, broke through
The perfect glory of departing day:
So, when his stormy pilgrimage is o’er,
Will light upon the dying Christian pour.