Sagas of Vaster Britain: Poems of the Race, the Empire and the Divinity of Man

by William Wilfred Campbell


 

WIND


 

I AM Wind, the deathless dreamer
    Of the summer world;
Tranced in snows of shade and shimmer,
    On a cloud-scarp curled:

Fluting through the argent shadow

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    And the molten shine
Of the golden, lonesome summer
    And its dreams divine.

All unseen I walk the meadows,
    Or I wake the wheat,

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Speeding o’er the tawny billows
    With my phantom feet.

All the world’s face, hushed and sober,
    Wrinkles where I run;
Turning sunshine into shadow,

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    Shadow into sun.

Stirring soft the breast of waters
    With my winnowing wings,
Waking the grey ancient wood
    From hushed imaginings.

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Where the blossoms drowse in languors,
    Or a vagrant sips,
Lifting nodding blade or petal
    To my cooling lips;

Far from gloom of shadowed mountain,

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    Surge of sounding sea,
Bud and blossom, leaf and tendril,
    All are glad of me.

Loosed in sunny deeps of heaven,
    Like a dream I go,

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Guiding light my genie-driven
    Flocks, in herds of snow;—

Ere I moor them o’er the thirsting
    Woods and fields beneath,
Dumbly yearning, from their burning

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    Dream of parchèd death.

Not a sorrow do I borrow
    From the golden day;
Not a shadow holds the meadow
    Where my footsteps stray;

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Light and cool, my kiss is welcome
    Under sun and moon,
To the weary vagrant wending
    Under parchèd noon;

To the languid, nodding blossom

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    In its moonlit dell,
All earth’s children, sad and yearning,
    Know and love me well.

Without passion, without sorrow,
    Driven in my dream

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Through the season’s trance of sleeping
    Cloud and field and stream;

Haunting woodlands, lakes, and forests,
    Seas and clouds impearled,
I am Wind, the deathless dreamer

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    Of the summer world.