CIX

THE FARTHEST thunder that I heard

Was nearer than the sky,

And rumbles still, though torrid noons

Have lain their missiles by.

The lightning that preceded it

Struck no one but myself,

But I would not exchange the bolt

For all the rest of life.

Indebtedness to oxygen

The chemist may repay,

But not the obligation

To electricity.

It founds the homes and decks the days,

And every clamor bright

Is but the gleam concomitant

Of that waylaying light.

The thought is quiet as a flake,—

A crash without a sound;

How life’s reverberation

Its explanation found!