Tempest

The trees before the coming storm Toss, wild as leaping Corybants Who fling to Cybele an arm Of rapture, and a face that pants Through hair the ritual frenzy slants.

Vague, stormy shapes of tempest sit, August, majestic, and immense, Beneath the stars--as, lightning-lit, A god might give wild audience To awe and night and violence.

Storm is her signet; hers, who writes Stern laws in flame; and, shadowy, With thunder seals the rolled-out nights, And sits in terrible mystery-- The mountain-crownéd Cybele.