Tempting the wind.

Aloft on the hill,

A cloudrift opens and shines

Through a break in its gorget of pines,

And it dreams at my feet

In a sad, silvery sheet,

Utterly still.

All things that be

Seem plunged into silence, distraught,

By some stern, some necessitous thought:

[44]

It wraps and enthralls

Marsh, meadow, and forest; and falls

Also on me.

SNOWBIRDS

Along the narrow sandy height

I watch them swiftly come and go,

Or round the leafless wood,

Like flurries of wind-driven snow,

Revolving in perpetual flight,

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