THE WIND

Which way does the wind blow,

And where does he go?

He rides o’er the water

And over the snow;

O’er wood and o’er valley,

And over the height—

Where goats cannot traverse

He taketh his flight.

He rages and tosses,

And bare is the tree,

As when you look upward

You plainly can see;

But from whence he comes,

Or whither he goes,

There is no one can tell you,

There is no one who knows.

—Mary Lamb.