I will turn no tunes but the tunes of the winds and the waters.
I know that the song of the bird is remembered, it changes not;
And I know that the song of the wind is unremembered;
But it stirs the ground of the heart while the song is a-singing,
And it flows from a vaster source than the song of the bird.
So I will sing the song of the wind in the long grass, by the river,
And the song of the wind in the dry and copper-brown oak-leaves,
In the autumnal season, so beautiful and sad,
And the song of the wind in the green cool ranks of the corn
As it stirs very lightly in the summer,