BLUSTERING, boisterous wind, that bloweth over the bracken, Rending the knotted oak, and tearing the stalwart pine, Never for one short pause do thy wild coursers slacken, Hurrying, scurrying by, with slashing sting of the brine. Roaring, and rolling along with the force of the full Atlantic, Bending the fern-leaf'd beech, and breaking the poplar's pride, Driving the giant chiefs and lords of the forest frantic, Writhing their mighty limbs in tortuous circles wide. On over boulder and crag, with a fury that brooks no negation, Bellowing back to the blast, booming aloud to the vale, Now like the sweep of a scythe, as it moweth in close serration, Now like the rush of a torrent, lash'd white with wintry hail. On over bracken and ling, over bilberry, gorse, and heather, Raying their silvery sides in the light of the westering sun, On over bramble and broom where the tall grasses blow together, On! in the joy of battle, in the armour of victories won. Quieted now are the million, murmurous voices of Summer, Only the thud of the surf in the beat of a surging sea, Whilst over above the gale the voice of the fierce Oncomer, 'I am the breath of a Spirit that wandereth ever free!' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...YOUTH PENETRANT by CONRAD AIKEN CONTRA MORTEM: THE TREES by HAYDEN CARRUTH ABOVE AND WITHIN by DAVID IGNATOW HOW MY HEART SINKS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON ON THE PROPOSAL TO ERECT A MONUMENT IN ENGLAND TO LORD BYRON by EMMA LAZARUS IN 'DESIGNING A CLOAK TO CLOAK HIS DESIGNS' YOU WRESTED FROM OBLIVION by MARIANNE MOORE TO A MAN WORKING HIS WAY THROUGH THE CROWD by MARIANNE MOORE |