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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

In 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 trium-          phant"Well, kill me!" I cried and ran out into the open.

But the storm ceased: the sun spread his

And 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.

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Katherine Mansfield

Kathleen Mansfield Murry (née Beauchamp; 14 October 1888 – 9 January 1923) was a prominent modernist writer who was born and brought up in New Z…

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