The wild winds weep,
And the night is a-cold;
Come hither, Sleep,
And my griefs infold:
But lo! the morning peeps
Over the eastern steeps,
And the rustling birds of dawn
The earth do scorn.
Lo! to the vault
Of paved heaven,
With sorrow fraught
My notes are driven:
They strike the ear of night,
Make weep the eyes of day;
They make mad the roaring winds,
And with tempests play.
His cries of sorrow are so loud that the night hears them. The use of the word strike implies a ferocity and violence. 
 Watch from 3:27-4:12 This clip, rather then being of anguish, is of laughter. They are both, however, are evoked by madness and weather. 

Mad Song