The Storm

Here's another poem unpublished during the lifetime of Clark Ashton Smith (CAS), so I'll begin with the poem itself:


To-west the black Titanic clouds reared high
In battle form stupendous and afar;
On wind-steeds fleet they rapidly drew nigh,
Swift hasting to the elemental war.
Their skirmishers the sky's blue field o'erran
The massive, serried legions followed fast;
Then suddenly the awful battle 'gan
With lightning flash and thunder's rambling blast.
The drenching rain in rattling sheets poured down
And overhead the storm in combat roll'd;
Long thus its cohorts strove, wind blown,
For some strange meed, as strove the kings of old.
Black night came on at last, and suddenly,
As if retreat had blown, the tempest ceased
Quick stilled the thunder's loud artillery,
The rattling rain died down, the clouds passed off to East
I watched their rear guard flee in ordered rout
To some new battle ground adown the sky
And in its wake the gleaming stars leapt out
And shone the crescent moon serene and high.


While the metaphor of storm-as-battle is somewhat obvious, CAS executes the idea with a lot of vigor.  The four lines right in the middle of the poem are especially powerful:


The drenching rain in rattling sheets poured down
And overhead the storm in combat roll'd;
Long thus its cohorts strove, wind blown,
For some strange meed, as strove the kings of old.


Here the storm clouds are pursuing a mysterious goal ("For some strange meed"), lending a narrative drive to these lines that goes beyond the obvious battle metaphor.  The fact that the specific nature of the meed being sought is left undefined enhances the supernatural aspect of the poem tremendously.