A great wind sweeps Across the world, hurling to heaps Of gilded rubbish crowns and thrones, mere gleam And flicker of dry leaves in its fierce path, A wind whose very wrath Springs from white Alpine crests of thought and dream. What sword can quell An unleashed tempest, and compel Hush to the thunder, patience to the storm? The maddened blast that buffets sea and land Blows under high command, Rending and riving only to transform. May its wild wings Burst the old tanglement of things, Those withered vines and brambles that enmesh The leaping foot! May its rough flail destroy Hedges that limit joy, Leaving, like rain, a silvery earth and fresh! Faith shall not quail For broken branches of the gale. Time is a strong corrival and will win. When hurricane has done its dread behest, And forests are at rest, His quiet hand will lead the sunshine in. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NON SUM QUALIS ERAM BONAE SUB REGNO CYNARAE by ERNEST CHRISTOPHER DOWSON THE COUNTRY FAITH by NORMAN ROWLAND GALE HIS GRANGE, OR PRIVATE WEALTH by ROBERT HERRICK THE INDIAN SERENADE by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY CRADLE SONG (TO A TUNE OF BLAKE'S): 1 by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE |