  The Wind bows down the poplar trees, The Wind bows down the crested seas; And he has bowed the heart of me Under his hand of memory. O heavy-handed Wind, who goes Hurting the petals of the rose; Who leaves the grasses on the hill Broken and pallid, spent and still! O heavy-handed Wind, who brings To me all echoing ancient things: Echoing sorrow and defeat, Crying like mourners, hard to meet! The Wind bows down the poplar trees And all the ocean’s argosies; But deeper bends the heart of me, Under his hand of memory. Harper’s Fannie Stearns Davis |
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