THE WIND.
Hear ye not the howling wind,
Sad and wild?
In its wake come dismal fancies
Never mild.
Like the moaning of the lost
Comes the wind:
Moaning, sighing—viewless phantoms
Come behind.
In the darkness come the spirits
Of the night,
Howling, with their dismal groaning
In their flight.
Absent friends come in our fancies
Evermore,
As the demons flee from Hades
Rush and roar.
Hear ye not the moaning wind
Moan and quiver
Like the moaning of the lost—
Lost forever?