Storm Sabbat
Against the pane the darkness, wet and cold, Pressed a wild face and raised a ragged arm Of cloud, clothed on with thunder and alarm And terrible with elemental gold. Above the fisher's hut, beyond the wold, The wind, a Salem witch, rushed shrieking harm, And swept her mad broom over every farm To devil-revels in some forest old. Hell and its-hags, it seemed, held court again On every rock, trailing a tattered gown Of surf, and whirling, screaming, to the sea Elf-locks, fantastic, of dishevelled rain; While in their midst death hobbled up and down Monstrous and black, with diabolic glee.
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"Against the pane the darkness, wet and cold,..."
"Storm Sabbat" is a quintessential example of Madison Julius Cawein's signature style... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...