The Storm's Retreat

The storm is over; yet the ocean sobs
   Like a child spent with wailing, though asleep
   Restless with dreams of trouble; long and deep
The heavy ground-swell, like the measured throbs
Of a world's heart, jars on the rocks and robs
   The windless midnight of what calm should steep
   Her realm in dewy silence. The blind leap
Of waves on slippery crags,—as of a mob's
Delirium hurled upon some black bastille,—
   Sends up a hollow jar, the sullen roar
Of the receding storm-god's chariot-wheel,
   At which the timid shudder as before;
For Parthian Tempest shoots his arrows back,
And makes his slow retreat seem merciless attack!