by Emily Dickinson
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American Literature – American Poetry – Emily Dickinson
< < < A Syllable
A thought went up my mind to-day > > >
A tempest
An awful tempest mashed the air,
The clouds were gaunt and few;
A black, as of a spectre’s cloak,
Hid heaven and earth from view.
The creatures chuckled on the roofs
And whistled in the air,
And shook their fists and gnashed their teeth.
And swung their frenzied hair.
The morning lit, the birds arose;
The monster’s faded eyes
Turned slowly to his native coast,
And peace was Paradise!
< < < A Syllable
A thought went up my mind to-day > > >
American Literature – American Poetry – Emily Dickinson
Copyright holders – Public Domain
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