THIRTEEN
A storm came o'er the hills to-day,
And broke in sweeping rain and crashing hail;
The great earth shook, and in dismay
We watched the mad wind like a tireless flail
Flatten the garden shrubs and whip the grass
Where shivered ice-or broken glass-
Tumbled and danced as if alive.
Meg turned to me in whispered fear:
"We won't miss Mass again this year."
THIRTY
A storm came o'er the hills to-day;
The lightning split a vault of swirling cloud;
Men, dashing homeward, turned away
Before the lashing rain, with shoulders bowed,
And ran. Along the wires above the street
The wild wind screamed and veered to beat
The tangled tops of frightened trees.
Meg turned to me-not now thirteen-:
"This rain will wash the city clean."
Colin Bingham (1929)