de CLEYRE, Voltairine “The Hurricane”
"We are the birds of the coming storm." — August Spies
literature: poetryDE CLEYRE, Voltairine (1866-1912)SEA ISLE CITY, N. J., August, 1889.
Published in The Worml Turns
You may also listen to this poem, read by Lucy Perry on the LibriVox website
The tide is out, the wind blows off the shore;Bare burn the white sands in the scorching sun;The sea complains, but its great voice is low.Bitter thy woes, O People,And the burdenHardly to be borne!Wearily grows, O People,All the achingOf thy pierced heart, bruised and torn!But yet thy time is not,And low thy moaning.Desert thy sands!Not yet is thy breath hot,Vengefully blowing; It wafts o’er lifted hands.The tide has turned; the vane veers slowly round;Slow clouds are sweeping o’er the blinding light;White crests curl on the sea— its voice grows deep.Angry thy heart, O People!And its bleedingFire-tipped with rising hate!Thy clasped hands part, O People,For thy prayingWarmed not the desolate!God did not hear thy moan:Now it is swellingTo a great drowning cry; A dark wind-cloud, a groan,Now backward veeringFrom that deaf sky!