“Oh father, let us hence-for hark,
A fearful murmur shakes the air.
The clouds are coming swift and dark:-
What horrid shapes they wear!
A winged giant sails the sky;
Oh father, father, let us fly!”
“Hush, child; it is a grateful sound,
That beating of the summer shower;
Here, where the boughs hang close around,
We'll pass a pleasant hour,
Till the fresh wind, that brings the rain,
Has swept the broad heaven clear again.”
“Nay, father, let us haste-for see,
That horrid thing with horned brow,-
His wings o'erhang this very tree,
He scowls upon us now;
His huge black arm is lifted high;
Oh father, father, let us fly!”
“Hush, child;” but, as the father spoke,
Downward the livid firebolt came,
Close to his ear the thunder broke,
And, blasted by the flame,
The child lay dead; while dark and still,
Swept the grim cloud along the hill.
A Presentiment
William Cullen Bryant
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Poem topics: cloud, heaven, rain, sky, summer, tree, wind, fresh, fearful, clear, huge, flame, thunder, black, high, swift, sound, grateful, dark, child, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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