Classic Poem

Why dost thou grieve, as rises from the sea
The cloud, black-hooded, climbing silently
Towards heaven's height?
From it fresh coolness through the sky shall flow,
And pure the air and green the ground shall grow,
And fair the light.
Then tremble not! Let storm-winds rage with might,
Let deafening thunders roll, fierce lightning smite
Wide, far and free.
These dread convulsions do not come in vain;
The people, with strong hands of ruddy stain,