No stars, not even the moon risen-
Broken silence of the darkest night of June,
Rumbling, rattling sound; clouds ripen
Amid, to kiss the forehead of surging tune.

Slowly, slowly-the frozen wind blowing
As none to lull it; enough its to rage-
No rest, even unbridled its to mowing
No one save silva of the place, nor mage!

Just a frenzied dance, upon earthly thing
Its come on intention to finish all till end;
More it mingles to dust than afforded to being
Its always unmoved, never does it pretend.