(17 November 1861 - 10 February 1899 / Morpeth, Ontario)

A Night Of Storm

Oh city, whom grey stormy hands have sown,
With restless drift, scarce broken now of any,
Out of the dark thy windows dim and many
Gleam red across the storm. Sound is there none,
Save evermore the fierce wind's sweep and moan,
From whose grey hands the keen white snow is shaken
In desperate gusts, that fitfully lull and waken,
Dense as night's darkness round they towers of stone.

Darkling and strange art thou thus vexed and chidden;
More dark and strange thy veiled agony,
City of storm, in whose grey heart are hidden
What stormier woes, what lives that groan and beat,
Stern and thin-cheeked, against time's heavier sleet,
Rude fates, hard hearts, and prisoning poverty.

User Rating: 2,7 / 5 ( 121 votes ) 19

Comments (19)

The first line is unconventional and I do not know exactly what it means with that whom or how to take it. This poem plays with the position, the normal position of words a bit too much.
A great poem by Archibald Lampman....
What stormier woes, what lives that groan and beat, Stern and thin-cheeked, against time's heavier sleet, Rude fates, hard hearts, and prisoning poverty....so touching. Beautiful poem.
A very moving mix of Nature and spirit which leaves me in a wondrous state.
many Gleam red across the storm. Sound is there none, Save evermore the fierce wind's sweep and moan, . beautiful poem great 10++++++
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