Poems About Wind

O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves deadAre driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thouWho chariotest to their dark wintry bedThe winged seeds, where they lie cold and low,Each like a corpse within its grave, untilThine azure sister of the spring shall blowHer clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)With living hues and odours plain and hill:

Blow, blow, thou winter wind, Thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude; Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude.Heigh ho! sing heigh ho! unto the green holly:Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly: Then, heigh ho! the holly! This life is most jolly.

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, That dost not bite so nigh As benefits forgot: Though thou the waters warp, Thy sting is not so sharp As friend remember'd not.Heigh ho! sing heigh ho! unto the green holly:Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly: Then heigh ho, the holly! This life is most jolly.

Said the Wind to the Moon, "I will blow you out;You stareIn the airLike a ghost in a chair,Always looking what I am about--I hate to be watched; I'll blow you out."

The Wind blew hard, and out went the Moon.So, deepOn a heapOf clouds to sleep,Down lay the Wind, and slumbered soon,Muttering low, "I've done for that Moon."

Sweet western wind, whose luck it is, Made rival with the air,To give Perenna’s lip a kiss, And fan her wanton hair:

Bring me but one, I’ll promise thee, Instead of common showers,Thy wings shall be embalm’d by me, And all beset with flowers.

Who has seen the wind?Neither I nor you:But when the leaves hang trembling,The wind is passing through.

Who has seen the wind?Neither you nor I:But when the trees bow down their heads,The wind is passing by.

"Four winds blowing through the sky,You have seen poor maidens die,Tell me then what I shall doThat my lover may be true."Said the wind from out the south,"Lay no kiss upon his mouth,"And the wind from out the west,"Wound the heart within his breast,"And the wind from out the east,"Send him empty from the feast,"And the wind from out the north,"In the tempest thrust him forth;When thou art more cruel than he,Then will Love be kind to thee."

Tell me, ye wingèd winds, That round my pathway roar, Do ye not know some spot Where mortals weep no more? Some lone and pleasant dell, Some valley in the west, Where, free from toil and pain, The weary soul may rest?The loud wind dwindled to a whisper low,And sighed for pity as it answered,--"No."

Tell me, thou mighty deep. Whose billows round me play,

Do you fear the force of the wind,The slash of the rain?Go face them and fight them,Be savage again.Go hungry and cold like the wolf,Go wade like the crane:The palms of your hands will thicken,The skin of your cheek will tan,You'll grow ragged and weary and swarthy,But you'll walk like a man!

When I am standing on a mountain crest,Or hold the tiller in the dashing spray,My love of you leaps foaming in my breast,Shouts with the winds and sweeps to their foray;My heart bounds with the horses of the sea,And plunges in the wild ride of the night,Flaunts in the teeth of tempest the large gleeThat rides out Fate and welcomes gods to fight.Ho, love, I laugh aloud for love of you,Glad that our love is fellow to rough weather, -No fretful orchid hothoused from the dew,But hale and hardy as the highland heather,Rejoicing in the wind that stings and thrills,Comrade of ocean, playmate of the hills.

Voice of the western wind!Thou singest from afar,Rich with the music of a landWhere all my memories are;But in thy song I only hearThe echo of a toneThat fell divinely on my earIn days forever flown.

Star of the western sky!Thou beamest from afar,With lustre caught from eyes I knewWhose orbs were each a star;But, oh, those orbs--too wildly bright--No more eclipse thine own,And never shall I find the lightOf days forever flown!

Teach me the secret of thy loveliness,That, being made wise, I may aspire to beAs beautiful in thought, and so expressImmortal truths to earth's mortality;Though to my soul ability be lessThan 'tis to thee, O sweet anemone.

Teach me the secret of thy innocence,That in simplicity I may grow wise,Asking from Art no other recompenseThan the approval of her own just eyes;So may I rise to some fair eminence,Though less than thine, O cousin of the skies.

Teach me these things, through whose high knowledge, I,--When Death hath poured oblivion through my veins,And brought me home, as all are brought, to lieIn that vast house, common to serfs and thanes,--I shall not die, I shall not utterly die,For beauty born of beauty--that remains.

O winds that blow across the sea,What is the story that you bring?Leaves clap their hands on every treeAnd birds about their branches sing.

You sing to flowers and trees and birdsYour sea-songs over all the land.Could you not stay and whisper wordsA little child might understand?

The roses nod to hear you sing;But though I listen all the day,You never tell me anythingOf father's ship so far away.

Ichot a burde in boure bryht, That fully semly is on syht,Menskful maiden of myht; Feir ant fre to fonde;In al this wurhliche wonA burde of blod ant of bonNever yete y nuste non Lussomore in londe. Blou northerne wynd! Send thou me my suetyng! Blou northerne wynd! blou, blou, blou!

With lokkes lefliche ant longe,

Blow, wind, blow! and go, mill, go!That the miller may grind his corn;That the baker may take it and into rolls make it,And send us some hot in the morn.

My Lady Wind, my Lady Wind,Went round about the house to findA chink to set her foot in;She tried the keyhole in the door,She tried the crevice in the floor,And drove the chimney soot in.

And then one night when it was darkShe blew up such a tiny sparkThat all the town was bothered;From it she raised such flame and smokeThat many in great terror woke,And many more were smothered.

And thus when once, my little dears,A whisper reaches itching ears--The same will come, you'll find:Take my advice, restrain the tongue,Remember what old nurse has sungOf busy Lady Wind.

Wind of the North,Wind of the Norland snows,Wind of the winnowed skies and sharp, clear stars -Blow cold and keen across the naked hills,And crisp the lowland pools with crystal films,And blur the casement-squares with glittering ice,But go not near my love.

Wind of the West,Wind of the few, far clouds,Wind of the gold and crimson sunset lands -Blow fresh and pure across the peaks and plains,And broaden the blue spaces of the heavens,

The north wind doth blow,And we shall have snow,And what will poor Robin do then,Poor thing?

He'll sit in a barn,And to keep himself warm,Will hide his head under his wing,Poor thing!

I saw you toss the kites on highAnd blow the birds about the sky;And all around I heard you pass,Like ladies' skirts across the grass-- O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song!

I saw the different things you did,But always you yourself you hid.I felt you push, I heard you call,I could not see yourself at all-- O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song!

O you that are so strong and cold,O blower, are you young or old?Are you a beast of field and tree,Or just a stronger child than me? O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song!

THE wind blew shrill and smart, And the wind awoke my heartAgain to go a-sailing o’er the sea, To hear the cordage moan And the straining timbers groan,And to see the flying pennon lie a-lee.

O sailor of the fleet, It is time to stir the feet!It’s time to man the dingy and to row! It’s lay your hand in mine And it’s empty down the wine,And it’s drain a health to death before we go!

To death, my lads, we sail; And it’s death that blows the galeAnd death that holds the tiller as we ride. For he’s the king of all In the tempest and the squall,And the ruler of the Ocean wild and wide!

THE wind is without there and howls in the trees, And the rain-flurries drum on the glass:Alone by the fireside with elbows on knees I can number the hours as they pass.Yet now, when to cheer me the crickets begin, And my pipe is just happily lit,Believe me, my friend, tho’ the evening draws in, That not all uncontested I sit.

Alone, did I say? O no, nowise alone With the Past sitting warm on my knee,To gossip of days that are over and gone, But still charming to her and to me.

Of all the sounds despatched abroad,There's not a charge to meLike that old measure in the boughs,That phraseless melody

The wind does, working like a handWhose fingers brush the sky,Then quiver down, with tufts of tunePermitted gods and me.

When winds go round and round in bands,And thrum upon the door,And birds take places overhead,To bear them orchestra,

I crave him grace, of summer boughs,If such an outcast be,He never heard that fleshless chantRise solemn in the tree,

As if some caravan of soundOn deserts, in the sky,Had broken rank,Then knit, and passedIn seamless company.

The rains at length have ceas’d, the winds are still’d,The stars shine brightly between clouds at rest,And as a cavern is with darkness fill’d,The vale is by a mighty sound possess’d

THEY sing their dearest songs— He, she, all of them—yea, Treble and tenor and bass, And one to play; With the candles mooning each face . . . Ah, no; the years O!How the sick leaves reel down in throngs!

They clear the creeping moss— Elders and juniors—aye, Making the pathways neat And the garden gay; And they build a shady seat . . .

The rude wind is singingThe dirge of the music dead;The cold worms are clingingWhere kisses were lately fed.

***

THE wind blew words along the skies, And these it blew to meThrough the wide dusk: “Lift up your eyes, Behold this troubled tree,Complaining as it sways and plies; It is a limb of thee.

“Yea, too, the creatures sheltering round— Dumb figures, wild and tame,Yea, too, thy fellows who abound— Either of speech the sameOr far and strange—black, dwarfed, and browned, They are stuff of thy own frame.”

I moved on in a surging awe Of inarticulatenessAt the pathetic Me I saw In all his huge distress,Making self-slaughter of the law To kill, break, or suppress.

I TRAVEL on by barren farms, And gulls glint out like silver flecks Against a cloud that speaks of wrecks, And bellies down with black alarms. I say: “Thus from my lady’s arms I go; those arms I love the best!” The wind replies from dip and rise, “Nay; toward her arms thou journeyest.”

A distant verge morosely gray Appears, while clots of flying foam Break from its muddy monochrome, And a light blinks up far away.

I blow across the stagnant world,I blow across the sea,For me, the sailor’s flag unfurled,For me, the uprooted tree.My challenge to the world is hurled;The world must bow to me.

I drive the clouds across the sky,I huddle them like sheep;Merciless shepherd-dog am IAnd shepherd-watch I keep.If in the quiet vales they lieI blow them up the steep.

There is a solemn wind to-night That sings of solemn rain;The trees that have been quiet so long Flutter and start again.

The slender trees, the heavy trees, The fruit trees laden and proud,Lift up their branches to the wind That cries to them so loud.

The little bushes and the plants Bow to the solemn sound,And every tiniest blade of grass Shakes on the quiet ground.

The wind is coming to me,Coming to me with coolness,Coming to me with fullness,Breathing upon me---- The Spirit Wind.

Fanned onward by wings cloud-feathered,Soft with white snow, gray with misty rain,Fragrant and freshening, come the winds---- The Spirit Winds.

They breathe upon my body,They lave me in their coolness,With their fullness they obliterate me....

Death, too, is a Spirit; Death, too, is a Wind.