Читать книгу The Complete Poetry of Emily Dickinson - Эмили Дикинсон - Страница 224

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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!