(@3A crying in the wilderness as of a little-child is the symbol of l st love@1) When all the West is blowing wild, Is blowing wild With tempest wings that fan the fire Of sunset to one awful pyre, I hear the crying of a child— The crying of a little child When all the West is blowing wild, Is blowing wild. The screaming scart, the wailing mew, The lone curlew, From shore and moor these voices rise: The grey wind roams through ashen skies: The West is all a blood-red hue: Out of the glistering moorland dew I hear a child's voice wail and rise In mournful cries. When all the West is blowing wild, Is blowing wild And shrill and faint along the shore, By moor, or hill, and o'er and o'er A child's lament is tost on high . . . It is a love that cannot die, A lost love weeping evermore While all the West is blowing wild, Is blowing wild. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...REPORT OF AN ADJUDGED CASE, NOT TO BE FOUND IN ANY BOOKS by WILLIAM COWPER CHRISTMAS IN INDIA by RUDYARD KIPLING THE SERGEANT'S WEDDIN' by RUDYARD KIPLING HIC JACET by LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON DEEDS OF VALOR AT SANTIAGO by CLINTON SCOLLARD |