The wind is cold, the wind is hot,
The wind is fierce and wild;
It stays not long in any spot,
It never is beguiled.
Perhaps the wind might pause awhile
And whisper to the reeds,
If they would only rise and smile,
And ask the lone wind’s needs.
DESTINY
Here, let it be! I will not ask,
Dear God, what is my destiny.
With courage I will face the task—
So, life, make what you will of me.
Yet I would know what is this pain,
Which smites with cruel force my mind?
And what can sorrow hope to gain
If woe is all my heart can find?
Why linger here? There must be rest
In some fair haven Thou hast made,
Or is the region of the blest
As vain a place as this? Then fade
Sweet hope! And let the clouds of night
Assemble o’er my weary head—
Why question more about the fight
Of souls that battle with the dead?
Still destiny may be some song
My aching heart might learn to sing,
A melody, both sweet and long,
And singing, heaven nearer bring!
Perhaps my doubts are shadows chill;
My mind may harbour questions vain.
My destiny! the merest rill
On ocean’s wide, unresting main.
Then Life and Death may count as past—
Things gone beneath the sodden clay.
For some great part, Thou, me might cast,
To light dejection’s gloomy day.