The Calm after the Storm

Stanley Roy Badmin

The Calm after the Storm

The storm has passed away;
I hear the blackbirds rejoice, the barn-door hen,
Gone back into the lane,
Reiterate her call. Look, the clear sky
Breaks through there in the west, above the mountain;
The plains cast off their gloom;
And the bright stream appears down in the valley.
All hearts are glad once more; on every side
Begins the noise and stir
Of labor, as before.
The craftsman, with his work in hand, goes singing,
To view the rain-swept sky
Outside his door; a woman
Comes running out, to be the first to fill
Her pail with fresh rainwater;
The herb-seller again,
Going from lane to lane,
Takes up his daily cry.
Look now, the sun returns and smiles down
On hillsides and on houses. And now the household
Throws open windows, balconies and rooms;
And mark, upon the high-street, some way off,
Jingle of harness bells, the creaking cart,
As now the traveler renews his journey.

So every heart is glad.
And when, but now, is life
So gracious and so sweet?
When else with so much liking
Does man resume his labors,
Turn to his wonted work, or start some new one? 
And when is he less conscious of his ills? 
Pleasure is trouble's child;
And empty joy, the fruit 
Of terror overpast, makes even the man
Who learned to loathe his life
Tremble with fear at death;
And thus, in long-drawn torment,
Shudder and sweat, the while they see above,
Against them gathering round,
Lightning, and clouds, and wind.

O bounteous Nature, these
Are then your gifts, and this
The happiness you offer
Us mortal men! The issue out of pain
Is happiness enough;
And pains you scatter with a generous hand,
While sorrow springs even of its own accord;
And pleasure, which by some odd miracle
Is born from trouble, is great gain. O human kind,
Dear to the eternal powers, happy indeed
If granted pause for breath
After each grief; most blest
If even these are cured at last by death.

Giacomo Leopardi

Like the first poem by Leopardi I posted ("Saturday Evening in the Village"), we get this wonderful bird's-eye view of what's happening in the countryside. He moves us from creature to creature, thing to thing, person to person, before he settles in to make his point. And what a point! I don't think he meant it to, but it makes me laugh. I mean, is he happy or sad about suffering and grief? And that last line, "cured at last by death", I can't stop grinning. Okay, Mr. Happy Leopardi, I gotcha.