The Landscape, Like The Awed Face Of A Child, Grew Curiously Blurred; A Hush Of Death Fell On The Fields, And In The Darkened Wild The Zephyr Held Its Breath. No Wavering Glamour-Work Of Light And Shade Dappled The Shivering Surface Of The Brook; The Frightened Ripples In Their Ambuscade Of Willows Thrilled And Shook. The Sullen Day Grew Darker, And Anon Dim Flashes Of Pent Anger Lit The Sky; With Rumbling Wheels Of Wrath Came Rolling On The Storm'S Artillery. The Cloud Above Put On Its Blackest Frown, And Then, As With A Vengeful Cry Of Pain, The Lightning Snatched It, Ripped And Flung It Down In Ravelled Shreds Of Rain: While I, Transfigured By Some Wondrous Art, Bowed With The Thirsty Lilies To The Sod, My Empty Soul Brimmed Over, And My Heart Drenched With The Love Of God.