Poems (Sharpless)/Storm on the Hills

4648411Poems — Storm on the HillsFrances M. Sharpless
STORM ON THE HILLS
The awful spirits of the storm
Gather among the hills;
The quiet vales, the shuddering woods
Their muttering menace fills.
And plunging down the rocky steep,
While hurrying to the distant main,
The torrent pauses, ere his leap,
To answer them again.

Dismayed at the dark rolling clouds,
My heart's dear friend and I
Seek out a small, deserted hut
Until the storm pass by.
No more I heed the wild alarm,
No more for angry tempests care,
My world is circled in my arm,
And sunshine smileth there.