A wild whir of wings thro' the woodland's browns hieing; A scurry of furry things, tossed windrows flying; A flurry of raindrops; the far wild geese crying— First-fruits of the spring time. The whirling gust billows Dead drifts over logs deep in hushed mossy pillows, Whips across the black pools with their banked sodden willows. And furred thing and whirred wing and woodcries together, The windrow and we—all the wild things together— Blow on thro' the woods and the weather, God's weather. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW; IN MEMORIAM by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 40 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN THE MENAGERIE by WILLIAM VAUGHN MOODY MILTONIC by MAVIS CLARE BARNETT ONCE & EVER by JOSEPH BEAUMONT ON A SMALL DOG by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN YEARNING by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE AMELIA EARHART by HELEN BRYANT THE CONJUNCTION OF JUPITER AND VENUS by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT |