THE STORM is like the cry of some god in pain whose love the earth refuses.

I CAME OUT alone on my way to my tryst. But who is this that follows me in the silent dark? I move aside to avoid his presence but I escape him not.
He makes the dust rise from the earth with his swagger; he adds his loud voice to every word that I utter.
He is my own little self, my lord, he knows no shame; but I am ashamed to come to thy door in his company.

PUT OUT THE lamp when thou wishest.
I shall know thy darkness and shall love it.