With lightning and thunder and rain,
The wind is sweeping and humming
In the butternut trees on the plain.
The cloud is ebon that follows,
The fore-cloud is livid and pale,
There’s the flash and the tossing of swallows
In the turn of the eddying gale.
The rain is awake on the mountain,
’T is lashing the forest afar
With fall of a shattering fountain