Harold Monro

The Wind

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So wayward is the wind to-night
'Twill send the planets tumbling down;
And all the waving trees are light
In gauzes wafted from the moon.

Faint streaky wisps of roaming cloud
Are swiftly from the mountains swirl'd;
The wind is like a floating shroud
Wound light above the shivering world.

I think I see a little star
Entangled in a knotty tree,
As trembling fishes captured are
In nets from the eternal sea.

There seems a bevy in the air
Of spirits from the sparkling skies:
There seems a maiden with her hair
All tumbled in my blinded eyes.

O, how they whisper, how conspire,
And shrill to one another call !
I fear that, if they cannot tire,
The moon, her shining self, will fall.

Blow ! Scatter even if you will
Like spray the stars about mine eyes !
Wind, overturn the goblet, spill
On me the everlasting skies !

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Harold Monro