Wind whose wings are cloud,

With lips more sweet than honey

Still, speak they low or loud,

Rejoice now again in the strength of thine heart: let the depth of thy soul wax proud.

We hear thee singing or sighing,

Just not given to sight,

All but visibly flying

Between the clouds and the light,

And the light in our hearts is enkindled, the shadow therein of the clouds put to flight.

From the gift of thine hands we gather

The core of the flowers therein,

Keen glad heart of heather,

Hot sweet heart of whin,

Twin breaths in thy godlike breath close blended of wild spring's wildest of kin.367 

367

All but visibly beating

We feel thy wings in the far

Clear waste, and the plumes of them fleeting,

Soft as swan's plumes are,

And strong as a wild swan's pinions, and swift as the flash of the flight of a star.

 Prev. P 48/50 next