A Presentiment - Hyperomm

Oh father, let us hence for hark

A fearful murmur shakes the air

The clouds are coming swift and dark:

What horrid shapes they wear

A winged giant sails the sky

Oh father, father, let us fly

'Hush, child;

it is a grateful sound

That beating of the summer shower

Here, where the boughs hang close around

We’ll pass a pleasant hour

Till the fresh wind, that brings the rain

Has swept the broad heaven clear again

'Nay, father, let us haste for see

That horrid thing with horned brow

His wings o’erhang this very tree

He scowls upon us now

His huge black arm is lifted high

Oh father, father, let us fly!'

'Hush, child;'

but, as the father spoke

Downward the livid firebolt came

Close to his ear the thunder broke

And, blasted by the flame

The child lay dead;

while dark and still

Swept the grim cloud along the hill

Poem by William Cullen Bryant