The Soul's Storm

IT struck me every day

      The lightning was as new

As if the cloud that instant slit

      And let the fire through.

It burned me in the night,

      It blistered in my dream;

It sickened fresh upon my sight

      With every morning's beam.

I thought that storm was brief,—

      The maddest, quickest by;

But Nature lost the date of this,

      And left it in the sky.