The Storm
I ran to the forest for shelter,Breathless, half sobbing;I put my arms round a tree,Pillowed my head against the rough bark.“Protect me,” I said. “I am a lost child.”But the tree showered silver drops on my face and hair.A wind sprang up from the ends of the earth;It lashed the forest together.A huge green wave thundered and burst over my head.I prayed, implored, “Please take care of me!”But the wind pulled at my cloak and the rain beat upon me.Little rivers tore up the ground and swamped the bushes.A frenzy possessed the earth: I felt that the earth was drowningIn a bubbling cavern of space. I alone—Smaller than the smallest fly—was alive and terrified.Then, for what reason I know not, I became triumphant.“Well, kill me!” I cried and ran out into the open.But the storm ceased: the sun spread his wingsAnd floated serene in the silver pool of the sky.I put my hands over my face: I was blushing.And the trees swung together and delicately laughed.
Words in this poem
- breathless a.
- Spent with labor or violent action; out of breath.
- sobbing n.
- A series of short, convulsive inspirations, the glottis being suddenly closed so that little or no air enters into the lungs.
- pillowed a.
- Provided with a pillow or pillows; having the head resting on, or as on, a pillow.
- tore n.
- The dead grass that remains on mowing land in winter and spring. Mortimer. [Probably from the root of tear; cf. W. tór a break, cut, tóri to break, cut.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
The Storm is in the public domain. This text is taken from Poems, Project Gutenberg ebook #59276; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Katherine Mansfield, The Storm, in Poems (1923), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #59276, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/mansfield-poems/the-storm.html, id L27582.
Form and metre
The Storm is 21 lines in a single stanza.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 --A------AA--B--B---- shelter · sobbing · treeA · bark · child · hair · earth · together · head · meA · meA · bushes · drowning · aloneB · terrified · triumphant · openB · wings · sky · blushing · laughed
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| I ran to the forest for shelter, | 9 | ····/˘·/˘ |
| Breathless, half sobbing; | 5 | /˘·/˘ |
| I put my arms round a tree, | 7 | ······· |
| Pillowed my head against the rough bark. | 9 | /˘······· |
| “Protect me,” I said. “I am a lost child.” | 10 | ˘/········ |
| But the tree showered silver drops on my face and hair. | 12 | ···//˘······ |
| A wind sprang up from the ends of the earth; | 10 | ·········· |
| It lashed the forest together. | 8 | ···/˘˘/˘ |
| A huge green wave thundered and burst over my head. | 11 | ····/˘····· |
| I prayed, implored, “Please take care of me!” | 9 | ··˘/····· |
| But the wind pulled at my cloak and the rain beat upon me. | 14 | ·············· |
| Little rivers tore up the ground and swamped the bushes. | 13 | /˘/˘·······/˘ |
| A frenzy possessed the earth: I felt that the earth was drowning | 15 | ·/˘˘/········/˘ |
| In a bubbling cavern of space. I alone— | 11 | ··/˘/˘···˘/ |
| Smaller than the smallest fly—was alive and terrified. | 14 | /˘··/˘··˘/·/˘· |
| Then, for what reason I know not, I became triumphant. | 14 | ···/˘····˘/˘/˘ |
| “Well, kill me!” I cried and ran out into the open. | 13 | ···········/˘ |
| But the storm ceased: the sun spread his wings | 9 | ········· |
| And floated serene in the silver pool of the sky. | 13 | ·/˘˘/··/˘···· |
| I put my hands over my face: I was blushing. | 11 | ·········/˘ |
| And the trees swung together and delicately laughed. | 11 | ····˘/˘·/˘· |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.