To Frighten a Storm

O now you come in rut, in rank and black desire, to beat the brush, to lash the wind with your long hair. Ha! I am afraid, exceedingly afraid. But see? her path goes there, along the swaying tops of trees, up to the hills. Too long she is alone. Bypass our fields, and mount your ravages of fire and rain on higher trails. You shall have her lying down upon the smoking mountains.