The Storm And The Bush

There are only two things in the world—
 The storm in the air and the stretch of green leaves;
 The flesh of the forest that quivers and heaves
 As the blast on its bosom is hurled.  
  Above is the whip of the wind
 That scourges the cowering forest beneath:
 The Storm spits the hiss of the hail from his teeth,
 And leaves the world writhing behind!  
  Like a beast that is bound in a cage
 When the keeper's lash lights and the keeper's goad stings,
 Each tree his great limbs to his torturer flings
 In a groaning and impotent rage.  
  As the leaves to a fiercer gust lean
 The wind throws their undersides upward to sight,
 And the foam of the forest-sea flashes to white
 Out over full fathoms of green.