Classic Poem

It thunders in the west, where the clouds roll
Ominously; and as the winds arise
Once more the lightnings cry out to my soul.
How often have I stood with passionate eyes
On some bare hilltop whence the miles of plain,
By sudden flashes torn forth from their sleep,
Were for an instant scrutable, till again
Atlantis-like they sank to oceans deep.
And such is life's true image: no clear day
On plain-lands luminous and defined and grave—
But a wild dusk where flashes, far away,
Swiftly illumine shores that from the wave
Are for a moment lifted, soon to be
Merged once again in the concealing sea.