Grey wings, O grey wings against a cloud,

Over the rough waves flashing,

Whose was the scream, startling and loud,

Keen through the skies,—was it thine,

Over the moaning wind and the whine

Of the wide seas dashing?

Whose was the scream that I heard

In the midst of the hurrying air?

Was it thine, lost bird,

Or the voice of an old despair

Chanting from years long dead,

Inexorable spirit flying

On tempest wings that passed and fled

Through the storm crying?