How Slow The Wind

How slow the Wind -
how slow the sea -
how late their Fathers be!

by Emily Dickinson.

I Saw The Wind Within Her

I saw the wind within her
I knew it blew for me —
But she must buy my shelter
I asked Humility

by Emily Dickinson.

I Bet With Every Wind That Blew

I bet with every Wind that blew
Till Nature in chagrin
Employed a Fact to visit me
And scuttle my Balloon -

by Emily Dickinson.

The Wind In The Pines

When winds go organing through the pines
On hill and headland, darkly gleaming,
Meseems I hear sonorous lines
Of Iliads that the woods are dreaming.

by Madison Julius Cawein.

The Universal Wind

Wild son of Heav'n, with laughter and alarm,
Now East, now West, now North, now South he goes,
Bearing in one harsh hand dark death and storm,
And in the other, sunshine and a rose.

by Madison Julius Cawein.

To The Night Breeze

BREEZE of the night, across my pillow straying­
Breeze of the night, of summer dews begot,
Salt from the sea-shore, where the waves are playing,
Slow, to and fro, my window curtains swaying­
Cool my flushed cheeks, by recent sleep left hot.

by Alice Duer Miller.

A Wind That Rose

A Wind that rose
Though not a Leaf
In any Forest stirred
But with itself did cold engage
Beyond the Realm of Bird -
A Wind that woke a lone Delight
Like Separation's Swell
Restored in Arctic Confidence
To the Invisible -

by Emily Dickinson.

Exhilaration is the Breeze

Exhilaration is the Breeze
That lifts us from the Ground
And leaves us in another place
Whose statement is not found -

Returns us not, but after time
We soberly descend
A little newer for the term
Upon Enchanted Ground -

by Emily Dickinson.

The idle wind blows all the day.
I wish it blew my care away.
The idle wind blows all day long
And weaves a burden to my song
Upon the melancholy flight
Of youth and beauty and delight.
The idle wind blows all the day.
I wish it blew my care away.

by Gamaliel Bradford.

A South Wind&Mdash;Has A Pathos

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A South Wind—has a pathos
Of individual Voice—
As One detect on Landings
An Emigrant's address.

A Hint of Ports and Peoples—
And much not understood—
The fairer—for the farness—
And for the foreignhood.

by Emily Dickinson.

When The Wind Comes Up The Hill

Oh ! the wind among the trees,
How it stirs their wood to song !
Little whispered melodies.
All the winding road along.

Was there ever such a sound,
Breaking through a noontide still,
As this tune the trees have found.
When the wind comes up the hill !

by Radclyffe Hall.

Night Wind, The

(Song)
The night wind in its passing
Sweeps the blossoms of the tree,
And fragrance, like a melody,
Is wafted up to me.

I know not whence, nor whither,
Of fragrance born, of song,
But O, but O, the memories
Tonight that ‘round me throng!

by Ina D. Coolbrith.

The Wind Was Rough Which Tore

The wind was rough which tore
That leaf from its parent tree
The fate was cruel which bore
The withering corpse to me

We wander on we have no rest
It is a dreary way

What shadow is it
That ever moves before [my] eyes
It has a brow of ghostly whiteness

by Emily Jane Brontë.

The Wind Of The World

Chained is the Spring. The Night-wind bold
Blows over the hard earth;
Time is not more confused and cold,
Nor keeps more wintry mirth.

Yet blow, and roll the world about-
Blow, Time, blow, winter's Wind!
Through chinks of time heaven peepeth out,
And Spring the frost behind.

by George MacDonald.

The Lark And The Wind

In the air why such a ringing?
On the earth why such a droning?

In the air the lark is singing;
On the earth the wind is moaning.

'I am blest, in sunlight swinging!'
'Sad am I: the world lies groaning!'

In the sky the lark kept singing;
On the earth the wind kept moaning.

by George MacDonald.

kiri no ki no
kaze ni kamawanu
ochiba kana

When no wind at all
disturbs the kiri tree—
the leaves that fall!

From the paulownia
without a breath of wind-
falling leaves

See ... the heavy leaf
on the silent windless day ...
falls of its own will
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by Nozawa Bonchō.

Wind On The Lyre

That was the chirp of Ariel
You heard, as overhead it flew,
The farther going more to dwell,
And wing our green to wed our blue;
But whether note of joy or knell,
Not his own Father-singer knew;
Nor yet can any mortal tell,
Save only how it shivers through;
The breast of us a sounded shell,
The blood of us a lighted dew.

by George Meredith.

The Message Of The Wind

The wind comes riding down from heaven.
Ho! wind of heaven, what do you bring?
Cool for the dawn, dew for the even,
And every sweetest thing.
O wind of heaven, from pink clouds driven,
What do you bring to me?
The low call of thy love who waits
Under the willow tree,
Whose boat upon the water waits
For me, for thee.

by Harriet Monroe.

Counsel In Sorrow.

How poor is comfort when the loss is great,
And vain all counsel to assuage a tear!
A light affliction it may medicine;
But when deep Nature groans all words are air,
And, like the aboriginal instrument,
Return on the comforter. 'Tis but a wind
That in the desert sows the germless sand,
Which by the whirlwind reaped is but sand still.

by Robert Crawford.

The Spry Arms Of The Wind

The spry Arms of the Wind
If I could crawl between
I have an errand imminent
To an adjoining Zone -

I should not care to stop
My Process is not long
The Wind could wait without the Gate
Or stroll the Town among.

To ascertain the House
And is the soul at Home
And hold the Wick of mine to it
To light, and then return -

by Emily Dickinson.

What Needeth These Threnning Words And Wasted Wind?

What needeth these threnning words and wasted wind?
All this cannot make me restore my prey.
To rob your good, iwis, is not my mind,
Nor causeless your fair hand did I display.
Let love be judge or else whom next we meet
That may both hear what you and I can say:
She took from me an heart, and I a glove from her.
Let us see now if th'one be worth th'other.

by David McKee Wright.

For a Moment The Wind Died

For a moment the wind died,
And then came the sense of quieting leaves;
And then came the great stillness of the landscape;
And then the chorus of unheard insects;
And then the perfect sky, pouring a blaze
of light through mottled leaves.
And then the wind sprang up again—
And there was coolness in the air,
And for the face,
And the tired heart.

by Theodore Dreiser.

That Wind I Used To Hear It Swelling

That wind I used to hear it swelling
With joy divinely deep
You might have seen my hot tears welling
But rapture made me weep

I used to love on winter nights
To lie and dream alone
Of all the hopes and real delights
My early years had known

And oh above the rest of those
That coming time should [bear]
Like heaven's own glorious stars they rose
Still beaming bright and fair

by Emily Jane Brontë.

How Lonesome The Wind Must Feel Nights -

How lonesome the Wind must feel Nights -
When people have put out the Lights
And everything that has an Inn
Closes the shutter and goes in -

How pompous the Wind must feel Noons
Stepping to incorporeal Tunes
Correcting errors of the sky
And clarifying scenery

How mighty the Wind must feel Morns
Encamping on a thousand dawns
Espousing each and spurning all
Then soaring to his Temple Tall -

by Emily Dickinson.

The South Wind: A Fisherman's Blessing

O blessed drums of Aldershot!
O blessed South-west train!
O blessed, blessed Speaker's clock,
All prophesying rain!

O blessed yaffil, laughing loud!
O blessed falling glass!
O blessed fan of cold gray cloud!
O blessed smelling grass!

O bless'd South wind that toots his horn
Through every hole and crack!
I'm off at eight to-morrow morn,
To bring
such
fishes back!


Eversley, April 1, 1856.

by Charles Kingsley.

The Wind, One Brilliant Day

The wind, one brilliant day, called
to my soul with an odor of jasmine.

'In return for the odor of my jasmine,
I'd like all the odor of your roses.'

'I have no roses; all the flowers
in my garden are dead.'

'Well then, I'll take the withered petals
and the yellow leaves and the waters of the fountain.'

the wind left. And I wept. And I said to myself:
'What have you done with the garden that was entrusted to you?'

by Antonio Machado.

O White Wind, Numbing The World

O WHITE wind, numbing the world
to a mask of suffering hate!
and thy goblin pipes have skirl’d
all night, at my broken gate.

O heart, be hidden and kept
in a half-light colour’d and warm,
and call on thy dreams that have slept
to charm thee from hate and harm.

They are gone, for I might not keep;
my sense is beaten and dinn’d;
there is no peace but a grey sleep
in the pause of the wind.

by Christopher John Brennan.

The Duties Of The Wind Are Few

The duties of the Wind are few,
To cast the ships, at Sea,
Establish March, the Floods escort,
And usher Liberty.

The pleasures of the Wind are broad,
To dwell Extent among,
Remain, or wander,
Speculate, or Forests entertain.

The kinsmen of the Wind are Peaks
Azof - the Equinox,
Also with Bird and Asteroid
A bowing intercourse.

The limitations of the Wind
Do he exist, or die,
Too wise he seems for Wakelessness,
However, know not i.

by Emily Dickinson.

There Came A Wind Like A Bugle

There cam a Wind like a Bugle -
It quivered through the Grass
And a Green Chill upon the Heat
So ominous did pass
We barred the Windows and the Doors
As from an Emerald Ghost -
The Doom's electric Moccasin
The very instant passed -
On a strange Mob of panting Trees
And Fences fled away
And Rivers where the Houses ran
Those looked that lived - that Day -
The Bell within the steeple wild
The flying tidings told -
How much can come
And much can go,
And yet abide the World!

by Emily Dickinson.

The Wind Took Up The Northern Things

The Wind took up the Northern Things
And piled them in the south -
Then gave the East unto the West
And opening his mouth

The four Divisions of the Earth
Did make as to devour
While everything to corners slunk
Behind the awful power -

The Wind - unto his Chambers went
And nature ventured out -
Her subjects scattered into place
Her systems ranged about

Again the smoke from Dwellings rose
The Day abroad was heard -
How intimate, a Tempest past
The Transport of the Bird -

by Emily Dickinson.

Through the consoling April sun
the breeze, so very unconsoling,
a sandy whirlwind on the road -
shutting up the chattering starling.

Up above the northern latitudes,
dark grey clouds are bulking high.
Bowler hats get pulled down tight -
but these two dandies let theirs fly.

And under the noise of the rumbling hail,
the proud and wicked heart revives:
'That's our very own lightning-crack,
the wingbeat as our spring arrives!'

21 April 1937, Paris

by Vladislav Khodasevich.

High From The Earth I Heard A Bird

High from the earth I heard a bird;
He trod upon the trees
As he esteemed them trifles,
And then he spied a breeze,
And situated softly
Upon a pile of wind
Which in a perturbation
Nature had left behind.
A joyous-going fellow
I gathered from his talk,
Which both of benediction
And badinage partook,
Without apparent burden,
I learned, in leafy wood
He was the faithful father
Of a dependent brood;
And this untoward transport
His remedy for care,—
A contrast to our respites.
How different we are!

by Emily Dickinson.

Love And The Wind

All were in league to capture Love
The rock, the stream, the tree;
The very Month was leader of
The whole conspiracy.

It led Love where wild waters met,
And tree hugged close to tree;
And where the dew and sunbeam let
Their lips meet rapturously.

And then it shouted, 'Here he is,
O wild Wind in the tree!.
Come, clasp him now, and kiss and kiss!
And call the flowers to see!'

And there, on every side, the wood
Rushed out in flower and tree.
And that is how, I've understood,
The Springtime came to be.

by Madison Julius Cawein.

Dear, if I never saw your face again;
If all the music of your voice were mute
As that of a forlorn and broken lute;
If only in my dreams I might attain
The benediction of your touch, how vain
Were Faith to justify the old pursuit
Of happiness, or Reason to confute
The pessimist philosophy of pain.
Yet Love not altogether is unwise,
For still the wind would murmur in the corn,
And still the sun would splendor all the mere;
And I-I could not, dearest, choose but hear
Your voice upon the breeze and see your eyes
Shine in the glory of the summer morn.

by Ambrose Bierce.

Wind Blew! The Sand Enveloped The Body

Wind blew! The sand enveloped the body,
Whatever little life left, is to see the beloved.

These Naangas go to Hinglaj
To see Mother Kali,
They have been to Dwarka,
These worshippers of Shiva.
There is nothing like them
On the Frontier
Or in Sindh
Or in Hindustan!
They have woven their souls in Rama:
Inside of them, there is only Rama:
Where Shiva oversees, that is where they settle.
I am conversant with the Yogis
Who always seek the sun.
All the hours of the day, their eyes are on mother Kali.

[English version by D. H. Butani]

by Shah Abdul Latif Bhittai.

To The West Wind

WEST wind, come from the west land
Fair and far!
Come from the fields of the best land
Upon our star!

Come, and go to my sister
Over the sea:
Tell her how much I have missed her,
Tell her for me!

Odours of lilies and roses–
Set them astir;
Cull them from gardens and closes,–
Give them to her!

Say I have loved her, and love her:
Say that I prize
Few on the earth here above her,
Few in the skies!

Bring her, if worth the bringing,
A brother's kiss:
Should she ask for a song of his singing,
Give her this!

by George Frederick Cameron.

To The Autumn Wind

O envious Autumn wind, to blow
From covert vale and woodland crest
The mellow leaves, just as they glow
Brightest and loveliest;
To strip the maples black and bare,
To rob the beeches' russet gold,
And make what was of late so fair
But rustling drift and dripping mould.

Yet if, as you have done with them,
With me you will but timely do,
I will no more your rage condemn,
But, rather, make my peace with you.
Let me not linger on, to know
The mournfulness of feelings lost,
But waft me, while as yet they glow,
Wise Autumn wind, from winter frost!

by Alfred Austin.

O, wind! what saw you in the South,
In lilied meadows fair and far?
I saw a lover kiss his lass
New-won beneath the evening star.

O, wind! what saw you in the West
Of passing sweet that wooed your stay?
I saw a mother kneeling by
The cradle where her first-born lay.

O, wind! what saw you in the North
That you shall dream of evermore?
I saw a maiden keeping tryst
Upon a gray and haunted shore.

O, wind! what saw you in the East
That still of ancient dole you croon?
I saw a wan wreck on the waves
And a dead face beneath the moon.

by Lucy Maud Montgomery.

The Wind Tapped Like A Tired Man,

The wind tapped like a tired man,
And like a host, 'Come in,'
I boldly answered; entered then
My residence within

A rapid, footless guest,
To offer whom a chair
Were as impossible as hand
A sofa to the air.

No bone had he to bind him,
His speech was like the push
Of numerous humming-birds at once
From a superior bush.

His countenance a billow,
His fingers, if he pass,
Let go a music, as of tunes
Blown tremulous in glass.

He visited, still flitting;
Then, like a timid man,
Again he tapped- 't was flurriedly-
And I became alone.

by Emily Dickinson.

Where, through the myriad leaves of forest trees,
The daylight falls, beryl and chrysoprase,
The glamour and the glimmer of its rays
Seem visible music, tangible melodies:
Light that is music; music that one sees-
Wagnerian music-where forever sways
The spirit of romance, and gods and fays
Take form, clad on with dreams and mysteries.
And now the wind's transmuting necromance
Touches the light and makes it fall and rise,
Vocal, a harp of multitudinous waves
That speaks as ocean speaks-an utterance
Of far-off whispers, mermaid-murmuring sighs-
Pelagian, vast, deep down in coral caves.

by Madison Julius Cawein.