Poem by Paul Hamilton Hayne

A Phantom in the Clouds

ALL day the blast, with furious ramp and roar,
Sweeps the gaunt hill-tops, piles the vapors high,
Thro' infinite distance, up the tortured sky--
Till to one nurtured on the ocean-shore,
It seems--with eyes half-shut to hill and moor--
The anguished sea waves' multitudinous cry--
It changes! deepening . . . Christ! what agony
Doth some doomed spirit on these wild winds outpour!
At last a lull! stirred by slow wafts of air!
When lo! o'er dismal wastes of stormy wreck,
Cloud-wrought, an awful form and face abhorred!
Thine, thine, Iscariot! smitten by mad despair,
With lurid eyeballs strained, and writhing neck,
Round which is coiled a blood-red phantom cord!

1. An Idle Poet, Dreaming in the Sun
2. Too Oft the Poet in Elaborate Verse
3. The Coming of the Wind
4. Along the Path Thy Bleeding Feet Have Trod
5. Baby’s First Word

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