The Great War

from Herb o' Grace, an electronic edition


O Wind, I cannot see you pass,

And yet I feel you as you go

Around the world and every place,

Shouting and singing loud and low.

Your breath, your touch, is on my cheeks,

Such soft caressing finger-tips!

Can it be you whose anger wrecks

The high trees and the tallest ships ?

You run so light o'er field and hill,

You shake no frailest blossom down,

And yet make havoc when you will

O'er land and sea, in country and town.

I hear you waking up from sleep

Over the hills and far away,

You giant, roaring as you leap

O'er lambs and daisies at their play.

O Wind, your name makes music sweet!

You are a lovely thing, O Wind!

And how the world were incomplete

Without your unseen presence kind.

For now your arms are round my neck,

And now your buffets are too rough.

And your sharp kisses on my cheek,

And your fierce clasp and your wild love.

The fool hath said it in his heart

There are no miracles. O Wing

Confute him when you fly apart

Close-felt, beloved, invisible Thing.