XXIII.

No wind, no rain, no thunder! The waters had trickled not slowly, The thunder was not spent Nor the wind near finishing; Who would have said that the storm was diminishing? No wind, no rain, no thunder! Their noises dropped asunder From the earth and the firmament, From the towers and the lattices, Abrupt and echoless As ripe fruits on the ground unshaken wholly As life in death. And sudden and solemn the silence fell, Startling the heart of Isobel As the tempest could not: Against the door went panting the breath Of the lady's hound whose cry was still, And she, constrained howe'er she would not, Lifted her eyes and saw the moon Looking out of heaven alone Upon the poplared hill,-- A calm of God, made visible That men might bless it at their will.