THE WIND'S SONG

Oh, the wild November wind,

How it blew!

How the dead leaves rasped and rustled,

Soared and sank and buzzed and bustled

As they flew;

While above the empty square,

Seeming skeletons in air,

Battered branches, brown and bare,

Gauntly grinned;

And the frightened dust-clouds, flying.

Heard the calling and the crying

Of the wind,—

The wild November wind.

Oh, the wild November wind,

How it screamed!

How it moaned and mocked and muttered

At the cottage window, shuttered,

Whence there streamed

Fitful flecks of firelight mild:

And within, a mother smiled,

Singing softly to her child

As there dinned

Round the gabled roof and rafter

Long and loud the shout and laughter

Of the wind,—

The wild November wind.

Oh, the wild November wind,

How it rang

Through the rigging of a vessel

Rocking where the great waves wrestle!

And it sang,

Light and low, that mother's song;

And the master, staunch and strong,

Heard the sweet strain drift along —

Softened, thinned,—

Heard the tightened cordage ringing

Till it seemed a loved voice singing

In the wind,—

The wild November wind.