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Spring Wind in London

by
 I Blow across the stagnant world,
I blow across the sea,
For me, the sailor's flag unfurled,
For me, the uprooted tree.
My challenge to the world is hurled; The world must bow to me.
I drive the clouds across the sky, I huddle them like sheep; Merciless shepherd-dog am I And shepherd-watch I keep.
If in the quiet vales they lie I blow them up the steep.
Lo! In the tree-tops do I hide, In every living thing; On the moon's yellow wings I glide, On the wild rose I swing; On the sea-horse's back I ride, And what then do I bring? And when a little child is ill I pause, and with my hand I wave the window curtain's frill That he may understand Outside the wind is blowing still; .
.
.
It is a pleasant land.
O stranger in a foreign place, See what I bring to you.
This rain--is tears upon your face; I tell you--tell you true I came from that forgotten place Where once the wattle grew,-- All the wild sweetness of the flower Tangled against the wall.
It was that magic, silent hour.
.
.
.
The branches grew so tall They twined themselves into a bower.
The sun shown.
.
.
and the fall Of yellow blossom on the grass! You feel that golden rain? Both of you could not hold, alas, (both of you tried, in vain) A memory, stranger.
So I pass.
.
.
.
It will not come again

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