Park Benjamin (1809–1864)

OFF in the West there is a sea of blue:—

While gloomiest vapors, clustering on high,

Tell that the hour of storm is drawing nigh;

For dark they rise, and darker to the view.

O, coldly from the East careers the gale,—

Sharp as adversity, or the pang of grief

Which sears the heart like Autumn’s withered leaf

When those we love in their affection fail.

Now from the scattering mists, relentless Rain

Falls in chill drops, precursors of the shower

That soon will prostrate the unsheltered flower,

Blooming of late securely on the plain.

It comes! in sudden gusts it rushes down;

And angry clouds o’er all the landscape frown!