WIND

Blow, wind! Strip the great trees

That are like ebony against a sky of jade,

Ebony fretted and contorted.

Blow, hunt the piled clouds that lash the earth with rain;

Roar among the swayed branches; sing shrilly in the grass,

Burdening the pines with the music of pain;

For mine eyes desire the stars.

Drown the senseless thunder of the guns,

Stream on the ways of air hurrying before thee

The yellow leaves, and the tawny, and scarlet,

Till my soul dance with them,

Dance delightedly as a child or a kitten

Catching at the gay leaves laughingly,

For I would forget, I would forget and laugh again.

Sing, thou great wind; smite the harp of the wood,

For in thee the souls of slain men are singing exultant,

Now free of the air, feather-footed! Yea, they swim therein

Toward the green twilight, surging

Naked and beautiful with playing muscles,

Yea, even the naked souls of men

Whose beauty is a fierce thing, and slayeth us

Like the terrible majesty of the gods;

Blow, thou great wind, scatter the yellowing leaves.