midnight
The wind shifts to the west . Peace , peace , Banshee -- `` keening '' at every window ! It will rise -- it will swell -- it shrieks out long : wander as I may through the house this night , I can not lull the blast . The advancing hours make it strong : by midnight , all sleepless watchers hear and fear a wild south-west storm . That storm roared frenzied , for seven days . It did not cease till the Atlantic was strewn with wrecks : it did not lull till the deeps had gorged their full of sustenance . Not till the destroying angel of tempest had achieved his perfect work , would he fold the wings whose waft was thunder -- the tremor of whose plumes was storm .