My hands disturb its calm
Till, like a joyous psalm,
Its swaying benediction greets the sky.
I kiss the pines that brood where seldom falls
The solace of the light,
And the hush’d voice of Night
Soothes the awed mountains in their somber dreams.
I am the Wind. I see enorme creations
Starring the vault above ye, and below.
Where bide the Seraphim