THE wind chants well over the world to-day; It runs in waves up the slopes of the corn-fields, and sounds deep and distant, like the sea, among the firs; The tall grasses in sheltered spots quiver on their wiry stems—for it is flowering time— And shake faint clouds of pollen upon the air. Strange purposes inhabit the woodland hollows and the high air to-day; The long-legged spider threading the blades of grass, touching trying retreating, encloses strange purposes, the wind encloses strange purposes. But I know you well O wind—you cannot escape me. You are very subtle, you have innumerable disguises: You are one thing to the grass with its beautiful hanging anthers and branched stigma, And another thing to the birds, and another to the solemn swaying fir-trees. You conceal yourself well, O wind, but I am level with you to-day—you cannot hide yourself from me. I go arm in arm, I ride over the world with you. I visit a thousand spots and leave my messages— And am as invisible as you. |