(via w*b dot tiscali dot it)
"The Hurricane
Lo, Lord, thou ridest!
Lord, Lord, thy swifting heart
Nought stayeth, nought now bideth
But's smithereened apart!
Ay! Scripture flee'th stone!
Milk-bright, Thy chisel wind
Rescindeth flesh from bone
To quivering whittlings thinned--
Swept, whistling straw! Battered,
Lord, e'en boulders now outleap
Thy drum's gambade, its plunge abscond!
Lord God, while summits crashing
Whip sea-kelp screaming on blond
Sky-seethe, dense heaven dashing--
Thou ridest to the door, Lord!
Thou bideth wall nor floor, Lord!"
--Hart Cran*
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