The gatherd storme is rype; the bigge drops falle;The forswat meadowes smethe, and drenche the raine;The comyng ghastness do the cattle pall,And the full flockes are drivynge ore the plaine;Dashde from the cloudes the waters flott againe;The welkin opes; the yellow levynne flies;And the hot fierie smothe in the wide lowings dies.
Liste! now the thunder's rattling clymmynge soundCheves slowlie on, and then embollen clangs,Shakes the hie spyre, and losst, dispended, drown'd,Still on the gallard eare of terroure hanges;The windes are up; the lofty elmen swanges;Again the levynne and the thunder poures,And the full cloudes are braste attenes in stonen showers.thomas chatterton
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