What is so simple as the wind That blows when all your days are thinned Of love? It does not search your eyes, Nor from your hands make quick surmise Of sorrow now: it only goes Swift at your wrists and brow, and blows About your body, mad to be Upon you as upon a tree. Wind does not care that you are still As winnowed stubble on a hill; It does not grieve that you are dumb As water when clouds' shadows come, And going leaves no thing so kind As that it does not look behind To see you callow, yet, as stone: Wind leaves you as it finds you -- flesh and bone. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO KNOW IN REVERIE THE ONLY PHENOMENOLOGY OF THE ABSOLUTE by HAYDEN CARRUTH FOR THE INVESTITURE by CECIL DAY LEWIS BALLROOM DARK by CLARENCE MAJOR DOMESDAY BOOK: THE CONVENT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE YANKEE'S RETURN FROM CAMP [JUNE, 1775] by EDWARD BANGS |