Storm Chariot
A change is predicted .
What is promised me
Through what tingles, besides
For static in air.
A charioteer's offer;
Storm-wheeled, to enter.
I am low. He knows it.
To life, numb resigned.
Whilst in looking ahead
Is past enduring.
Of a great jolt or two
Needful. Fear-blazed through!
Spirit-rouser! Who'll not
Let those hours to drag.
Night's exciter! Above
All a street-spilt verve.
Shouts down: "no humour's loss
Griefs to winds who toss!"
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