The Storm, Poem by Emile Verhaeren

Poem by Emile Verhaeren Period 19th century

Among the golden apples that a light wind brushes
You appear up there, slipping from branch to branch,
When suddenly the storm comes rushing like an avalanche
And slashes the bushy brow of the old orchard.

You flee, fearful and nimble, and climb down the ladder
And take shelter under the lean-to whose pale wall
Turns livid and white in the flashes of lightning
And whose roof rings under the rain and the hail.

But now the whole sky has turned crimson again.
Then, in the flowering grass that welcomes you once more,
You step forward and hold out, so it may laugh in the sun,
The wet fruit you picked among the leaves.

Emile Verhaeren

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