Evening Storm—nipigon Poem by Silas Weir Mitchell

UPON the beach, with low, quick, mournful sob,
The weary waters shudder to our feet;
And far beyond the sunset's golden light,
Forever brighter in its lessening span,
Shares not the sadness of yon dark wood-wall,
Where green and noiseless deeps of shadow rest
In growing gloom 'twixt golden lake and sky.
Fast fades the lessening day, and far beneath
The tamarack shivers and the cedar's cone
Uneasy sways, while fitful trendors stir
The tattered livery of the ragged birch;
And over all the arch of heaven is wild
With tumbled clouds, where swift the lightning's lance
Gleams ruby red and thunder-echoes roll;
Far, far below—sweet as the dream of hope
What time despair is nearest—lies the lake.
Fast comes the storm; spiked black with pattering rain,
The darkened water gleams with bells of foam.
Fast comes the storm, till over lake and sky,
O'er yellow lake and ever-yellowing sky,
Cruel and cold, the gray storm-twilights rest;
And so the day before its time is dead.