A fierce night storm is tearing across the countryside, and inside a small cottage, fear takes hold. John Clare describes the wind not as air but as a flood — a roaring, sobbing darkness that sounds like rivers breaking loose to drown the fields. A labourer stands at his door, half-convinced the noise is water rising to swallow everything. He peers into the deepening blackness, thinking with dread of travellers who must find their way through such a dangerous night. Inside, the loud chatter around the fire abruptly stops. The woman of the house has lifted her hand, hushing everyone into silence. She listens to the clamour and believes a deluge is coming, enough to flood the land. She won’t go to bed until the tempest dies down. The whole poem hums with tension — the wild, almost monstrous power of nature pressing against the fragile safety of home, leaving only waiting and worry.
Nightwind — Summary
Darkness like midnight from the sobbing woods Clamours with dismal tidings of the rain, Roaring as rivers breaking loose in floods To spread and foam and deluge all the plain. The cotter listens at his door again, Half doubting whether it be floods or wind, And through the thickening darkness looks afraid, Thinking of roads that travel has to find Through night's black depths in danger's garb arrayed. And the loud glabber round the flaze soon stops When hushed to silence by the lifted hand Of fearing dame who hears the noise in dread And thinks a deluge comes to drown the land; Nor dares she go to bed until the tempest drops.