I will be like a wild grape vine,
I will climb the sun gathering color;
Until every leaf of my being is fluted with rose,
Cupped in brown-gold,
Dusted with silver.
I will cling with my dry stem
Until my stem is strong as brown cedar.
Then will I swing from tree to tree,
Twisting, turning, blowing,
Binding all trees with my tendrils,
Embracing them, leaping with them,
Woven in and out of them,
One!

And the wild bee shall love me,
And the wild bee shall follow me
With song!
And I shall be mad fragrance at dusk
And sweet odor at dawn.
And then!—And then
Among all beloved trees which can resist me!
They will yield themselves to me
And I shall swing over the whole world,—
Every forest of earth,
Every dim place, withdrawn, silent,
Every wilderness,—
Spanning the sky with a vast arch of rose,
Beating upon the stars with my gold,
Kissing the dawn with my silver,
Resting in my brown upon earth,
My roots in her, my fruit her being!

Wind, Wind,
Then will the mad fragrance of my breath be your breath,—
The wild bee clinging!
Wind, Wind,
Then will my hard dry stem know the flight of bird,—
The wild bee following!
Wind, Wind,
Then will my love know the flutter of soft leaf upon me,—
The wild bee singing!