Page:Not understood - and other poems (IA notunderstoodoth00braciala).pdf/64

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THE WINDS.

 

WHO has not heard the sighing,
  And the moaning, and the crying,
As of troubled spirits flying
  Through the winds, through the winds,
On some dreary winter’s night,
When the cat-eyed owl, in fright,
From its hiding place takes flight,
  Through the winds, through the winds?
  And the curlews scream aloud,
  And each quaintly fashioned cloud
  Is swept o’er Earth’s gloomy shroud
    By the winds, by the winds;
    Oh, there’s something sad yet sweet about those
winds.

For they carry us back on Fancy’s track
  O’er the deep dark ocean’s foam;
And we mingle again with the loving train,
  In our childhood’s happy home;
Each fond kind face, in the dear old place,
  Smiles on us as of yore,
And we hear the wail of the blast and the hail
  About and against the door;
And the wild gusts screech through the elm and beach,
  Till the leaves seem living things;
Through each cranny and nook, and by streamlet and brook,
  Old Boreas whistles and sings;