An Awful Tempest Mashed the Air
by Emily Dickinson

An awful Tempest mashed the air —
The clouds were gaunt, and few —
A Black — as of a Spectre’s Cloak
Hid Heaven and Earth from view.

The creatures chuckled on the Roofs —
And whistled in the air —
And shook their fists —
And gnashed their teeth —
And swung their frenzied hair.

The morning lit — the Birds arose —
The Monster’s faded eyes
Turned slowly to his native coast —
And peace — was Paradise!