The Storm.

I

f as the windes and waters here below
                            Do flie and flow,
My sighs and tears as busy were above ;
                            Sure they would move
And much affect thee, as tempestuous times
Amaze poore mortals, and object their crimes.

 
Starres have their storms, ev’n in a high degree,
                            As well as we.
A throbbing conscience spurred by remorse
                            Hath a strange force :
It quits the earth, and mounting more and more,
Dares to assault thee, and besiege thy doore.

There it stands knocking, to thy musicks wrong,
                            And drowns the song.
Glorie and honour are set by till it
                            An answer get.
Poets have wrong’d poore storms : such dayes are best ;
They purge the aire without, within the breast.

—-George Herbert 

So far I have only one additional post to include in tomorrow’s weather report. (Thank you, Pam.) You can help make the next weather report fun and interesting by telling us what’s going on in your weather or posting a weather picture (or poem, like this one) and sending me the link.