PURPLE and grey the vacant moor lies spread
And all the storms of heaven sweep and cry
Among the barrows of forgotten dead,
Who died as we shall die.
There dwelt of yore, upon such desert land,
Strange merchants of a stranger merchandise,
Who stole the Winds from out God's hollowed hand
And loosed them, at a price.
Thither mayhap the reiving marchman rode
And bought a gale to ruffle the red cock
That he would set upon his foe's abode,
And leave no standing stock.
And thither, with hearts tossing to and fro
On stormy seas, came foolish maids and fain,
And chaffered for a favouring wind to blow
Their lovers home again.
Oh were such mighty witches living still,
Those whistle tempests and light airs obeyed,
We have more need the wind should do our will
Than e'er had love-sick maid.
At body's peril and in soul's despite
We would give all we had of gold and gem
For a west wind, where our beloved fight,
To blow the reek from them.
But these wind-pedlars with their hard-earned fee
Mocked and forsaken of the fiend their sire
'Spite of all powers of spell and gramarye
Passed long ago in fire.
So to High God let humble prayers be said,
From bursting hearts that wait in vain, and He
In His good time, when all your dears are dead,
May stoop to answer ye.