  THE·WEST·WIND WILD Wind! Thy tameless spirit lifts my mind— Thou, all night long the troubled earth hast torn, And tossed the stormy trees until the morn, Which struggles now unto its noon, half blind With those wild locks which ye have cast across The face of heaven, scarcely showing through Her eyes between are still of stedfast blue, And still look calm above the woods ye toss; As they were wrathful waves of that green main From whence ye come, beyond the sunset’s grave, To freshen on the sunburnt hills, and lave The summer-thirsty fields with gracious rain. Hark! in the wood thy voice, a lion, roars! Beneath thy breath upon the parchÈd hill, Shudders the wasted grass, and shrieketh shrill, To lash the fossil waves of hill and dale Ye may not move, yet melted make appear Their solid sides, enrobed in rains ye bear Across the valley like a falling veil. But, night or day, thy ceaseless song to me Makes melody, and music wild and free, And I rejoice to drink thy breath for ye Do bring the sound and savour of the sea. decoration: shell |
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