THE WIND.
he lithe wind races and sings
Over the grasses and wheat—
See the emerald floor as it springs
To the touch of invisible feet!
Ah, later, the fir and the pine
Shall stoop to its weightier tread,
As it tramps the thundering brine
Till it shudders and whitens in dread!
Breath of man! a glass of thine own
Is the wind on the land, on the sea—
Joy of life at thy touch!—full grown,
Destruction and death maybe!
THE CRYSTAL SPRING.
I.
air spirit of the plaining sea,
Thou heard'st Apollo's lyre!—
Now folded are thy silver wings
Thee sunward bore,
A dream and a desire.
Ranging the upper azure deeps,
The sunlight on thy wings,
How blanched thy purpose as there fell
The lightning's stroke,
And darkness on all things!
In agony of rain and hail,
And phantom dance of snow,
The chastening angels of the air
To mountain bleak
Consigned thee far below.
There in the arms of heartless frost,
And burdened with thy train,
The keen stars watched thy ageful way,
Till breast of earth
Warmed thee to life again.
And in thy course thou wert God's plow,
Thy furrow deep the valley
Of wooded walls and flowers to be,—
The circling sun
Keeps slow and sure the tally.
Reborn, thou waitedst not far down
The sunless caves to speed—
(Thy twin, lade with unfabled spoils,
Did build the plain,
Or green the expectant mead,
And weave the fabric, forge the plow,
Bear inland steam and sail)—
Or serv'dst, in mines and nether realms
Of shadowland,
The gnomes and genii pale.