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The winds grow high;
Impending tempests charge the sky;
The lightning flies, the thunder roars;
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The winds grow high;
Impending tempests charge the sky;
The lightning flies, the thunder roars;
And big waves lash the frightened shores.
Your chances of getting struck by lightning go up if you stand under a tree, shake your fist at the read more
Your chances of getting struck by lightning go up if you stand under a tree, shake your fist at the sky, and say "Storms suck!"
A storm in a cream bowl.
- James Butler, first Duke of Ormonde,
A storm in a cream bowl.
- James Butler, first Duke of Ormonde,
Why, now blow wind, swell billow, and swim bark!
The storm is up, and all is on the hazard.
Why, now blow wind, swell billow, and swim bark!
The storm is up, and all is on the hazard.
At first, heard solemn o'er the verge of Heaven,
The Tempest growls; but as it nearer comes,
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At first, heard solemn o'er the verge of Heaven,
The Tempest growls; but as it nearer comes,
And rolls its awful burden on the wind,
The Lightnings flash a larger curve, and more
The Noise astounds; till overhead a sheet
Of livid flame discloses wide, then shuts,
And opens wider; shuts and opens still
Expansive, wrapping ether in a blaze.
Follows the loosen'd aggravated Roar,
Enlarging, deepening, mingling, peal on peal,
Crush'd, horrible, convulsing Heaven and Earth.
Or, if there were a sympathy in choice,
War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it,
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Or, if there were a sympathy in choice,
War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it,
Making it momentany as a sound,
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream,
Brief as the lightning in the collied night,
That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth,
And ere a man hath power to say 'Behold!'
The jaws of darkness do devour it up:
So quick bright things come to confusion.
The earth is rocking, the skies are riven--
Jove in a passion, in god-like fashion,
Is breaking read more
The earth is rocking, the skies are riven--
Jove in a passion, in god-like fashion,
Is breaking the crystal urns of heaven.
Merciful heaven,
Thou rather with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt
Splits the unwedgeable and gnarled oak
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Merciful heaven,
Thou rather with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt
Splits the unwedgeable and gnarled oak
Than the soft myrtle; but man, proud man,
Dressed in a little brief authority,
Most ignorant of what he's most assured
His glassy essence--like an angry ape
Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven
As makes the angels weep; who, with our spleens,
would all themselves laugh mortal.
