Storm...

                                                                His face was charged with beauty as a cloud           
                                            With glimmering lightning. When it shadowed me
                             I shook, and was uneasy as a tree
                                               That draws the brilliant danger, tremulous, bowed.


                              So must I tempt that face to loose its lightning.
                                                       Great gods, whose beauty is death, will laugh above,
                         Who made his beauty lovelier than love.
                                                   I shall be bright with their unearthly brightening.


                             And happier were it if my sap consume;
                                                      Glorious will shine the opening of my heart;
                        The land shall freshen that was under gloom;
                                                         What matter if all men cry aloud and start,
                          And women hide bleak faces in their shawl,
                                                             At those hilarious thunders of my fall?
                                          ~Wilfred Owen~