  O WIND you come singing, singing, Gaily about the eaves, I think you are bringing, bringing, The secret of the leaves; Secrets you learned in the Maytime, Down in the wood so cool, Learned in the night-time and day-time, By bank, and brook, and pool. O wind, you go shrilling, shrilling, Over the chimneys high, While the clouds are softly spilling Rain on the gardens dry: ’Tis autumn, the wild new-comer Has taught you how to sing, But the voice of the sweet dead summer Through it all seems to ring. O wind, you are railing, railing, ’Tis the voice of a shrew, Wearied at length, and failing, Then beginning anew: Down to my casement wide, A moment and you are flying Away in pique and pride. I love your chasing and panting, I love the melody, That you go so gaily chanting To earth, and sky, and sea. Our birds go southward soaring, When signs of frost appear, You, with your sighing and roaring, Sing to us all the year. [Decorative image unavailable.] |
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