Were the wind to take my hand,
Invite me to a distant land
And ask me in its melody
With words that I could understand
“Will you come with me?”
Would I refuse its short request
Or put its offer to the test,
And step into the rising mist
To be a storm’s invited guest,
How could I resist?
Though men have learned to cross the sky
Through centuries of fail and try,
And with the power of the mind
We now can say that we can fly,
Yet who has wings of wind?
The air is cold and so the song
The wind has sung for hours long,
But though its voice is pleading and
Its grip upon my shoulders strong,
I cannot understand.
So when the branches of the trees
Bend low before the passing breeze,
And when I hear that pleading cry
That always haunts the winter eves
I never can reply.