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Winds.
Fantastic with auroras, side by side,
With winged wild legions screaming sweep the poles,
Tuning their hoarse throats to the bruit of waves.
Were it my own to give or keep, at death,
I would bequeath my soul to such a wind."
With winged wild legions screaming sweep the poles,
Tuning their hoarse throats to the bruit of waves.
Were it my own to give or keep, at death,
I would bequeath my soul to such a wind."
Light-spoken words, dropped in the storm's full pause,
Forgotten ere its rise.
Commit thy soul
To the wild keeping of those vagrant winds?
Those melancholy winds that gird the earth
With sadness?
Not the summer winds that lie
Rocked bird-like in high branches, that fly fast
Down the moist morning shadows, that tread soft
Through the dim woods at even, that precede
The silver columns of the marching rain
Along the parched pale meadows. Summer winds
'Gainst whom no door is shut, that may come in,
Refresh the sleeper, or with angels bear
The soul from dead lips up into the blue
Deep calm above. Light winds that may tread close
Forgotten ere its rise.
Commit thy soul
To the wild keeping of those vagrant winds?
Those melancholy winds that gird the earth
With sadness?
Not the summer winds that lie
Rocked bird-like in high branches, that fly fast
Down the moist morning shadows, that tread soft
Through the dim woods at even, that precede
The silver columns of the marching rain
Along the parched pale meadows. Summer winds
'Gainst whom no door is shut, that may come in,
Refresh the sleeper, or with angels bear
The soul from dead lips up into the blue
Deep calm above. Light winds that may tread close
