POETRY.
THUNDER-MUSIC.
STRANGELY this loneliness recalls a night
Of midsummer when we slept in the open barn.
I had lighted a candle, and so hushed and still Was the air, it burned unwavering, up and up.
You slept, with quiet breathing, whilst big moths Slapped at the ceiling, and invisible gnats
Threaded their rasping skirls about the dark.
And then beyond the trees low rumblings broke Of rising thunders, and the lightning flashed Livid above the distant hills. Near And nearer came the clanging peals, until The skies rocked and those barn-roofs echoed back.
Hardly each clash had ended when the heavens With lightnings new wero riven: poised were the leaves,
Electric, each a timeless leaf of beauty.
Then fell the rains. The tumult of the skies Tumbled upon the droughty earth that drank With greedy lips the heavy, pouring streams.
And you, or waking or asleep I knew no-.
You were all forgot. Our bodies, frail, Were crushed in tho press of those grim thunders ; twirled, It seemed, like dust in a whirlwind's sucking pool.
And there was no escape .
C. HENRY W&HREN,
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