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The night arose with thunder in its breath,
And lightning tore the fabric of my dream;
Within my heart there raged a storm of death,
That turned each hope to fragments on the stream.
The heavens roared, yet louder roared my grief,
As doubt assailed the fortress of my mind;
Love, once my balm, now offered no relief,
A broken oath, a wound I could not bind.
Yet from the wreck a whisper soft was born,
A vow that pain could never quite destroy;
For every tear the tempest clouds had worn
Would feed the seed of everlasting joy.
The storm passed on, and in the morning's hue
I found my peace, reborn in thoughts of you. |
