At times the moon, from storms aloof,
Shines white and wan within the room—
Then swift clouds drive across the light
And all the plain is lost to sight,
The cabin rocks, and on my palm
The sifted snow falls, cold and calm.
God! What a power is in the wind!
I lay my cheek to the cabin side
To feel the weight of his giant hands—
A speck, a fly in the blasting tide