By the lisp and laughter of spring in leafy places,
By the storms that follow and the calms that flee,
By the pale light flung in men’s funeral faces
From holocausts of kings we burn to thee;
By the seas that link us and the lands that sever
By the foes upon our weather-side and lee—
By all these things and all other things whatever,
We call, and howl, and squeak, and shriek to thee,
Calling thee early and late,
Wild, inarticulate,