John Grosvenor Wilson


Song Of The Wind

by John Grosvenor Wilson

From the far frozen
Plains, that are closen
Ever, and chosen
Only of snow-clouds,
From that waste war land
Known as the Nor'land,
Round the bleak foreland
Ride I the low clouds.

Fleet as the hour
Speed is my dower,
I am the power
The spirit of motion;
Hark! the beginning!
Space for the winning!
All with me spinning,
Earth, island, and ocean.

Ho, for the journey!
Clang, O ye horny
Peaks! the wild tourney
Of tempests unravel,
Who then shall bind me,
Bruise me, or blind me,
Yea, or shall find me,
As tireless I travel!

Where the wave flashes,
Where the spray dashes,
Where the sea clashes
Her cymbals, foam-hidden,
Filled with the moonlight,
Thrilled with the noon-light,
Winter and June light,
Roam I unchidden.

When the thick-lying
Forests are sighing,
Through the boughs flying
I bear their assurance
Out to the arid
Sands that have tarried,
Harassed and harried,
Worn wan with endurance.

When the skies thunder,
Riven asunder,
Rush I on under
The lightning's long arrows,
Howling and hurling,
Cracking and curling,
Whistling and whirling
Down rivers and narrows.

Then, the storm ended,
Rain and earth blended,
Lo, unattended,
In Summer's sweet season
I slip down some alley,
Or wild woodland valley
Where red robins rally
To wrangle and reason.

Or with low whirring
Speed I unerring,
Tenderly stirring
The leaves of green covers,
To blend in my flying
With vows and denying
And amorous sighing
Of light-hearted lovers.


Lyrics Of Life
Copyright 1886
Caxton Book Concern, Limited, New York