Dawn came this morning ominous and grim.
   The circle of the sun rose bloated where,
Seen thro' the scudding cloud, its angry rim
   Burned dull and copper hued -- a sullen glare.
   The stale and lifeless air
Made no least little stir 'mid leaf and limb
Of great trees brooding round this garden trim;
   A listening fear seemed there.
 
Listening and waiting.  Then a far, faint roar
   Spread from the furthrest hills.  A sudden breeze
Swelling in volume thro' the forest tore
   Until it seeemd the tossing, tortured trees
   Writhed in fierce agonies.
The crashing trunks sounded as guns in war,
And tumult reigned, as of some rockbound shore
   Defying angry seas.
 
Waning to wax again with gathered power,
   All day it raged, and leapt from hill to hill,
Shouting its wrath ... Now, with a healing shower,
   Quiet comes down, and all seems strangely still.
   The wind has had its will
With riven loveliness of shrub and flower;
But round the torn storm-scarred monarchs tower
   Unconquerable still.

"Den"
Herald, 14 January 1933, p8