  [Image unavailable.] Archibald Lampman The wind charged every way, and fled Across the meadows and the wheat; It whirled the swallows overhead, And swung the daisies at my feet. As if in mockery of me, And all the deadness of my thought, It mounted to the largest glee, And, like a lord that laughed and fought, And made the poplars clash and shiver, And flung my hair about my eyes, And sprang and blackened on the river. And through the elm-tree tops, and round The city steeples wild and high, It floundered with a mighty sound, A buoyant voice that seemed to cry,— “Behold how grand I am, how free! And all the forest bends my way! I roam the earth, I stalk the sea, And make my labor but a play.” —Archibald Lampman. |
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