Classic Poem

The Wind is a lusty fellow,
And his lungs are full of song;
Round the roof he loves to bellow
Defiance fierce and strong.
His harp is the somber forest
Of its emerald foliage bare,
And he smites the strings and recklessly sings,
This minstrel of the air.

And a love-lay he can gently
Breathe out to the sighing reeds,
While the lilies listen intently
And the passionate white swan heeds.
He can kiss the crimson petals
Of the fiery-hearted rose
And scarcely stir the gossamer
Which under the sunbeam glows.

If a man be sad and lonely
He will hear in the wail of the wind
Heart-breaking dirges only
And regrets of a soul unresigned,
Or if he be wild and daring
He will shout to the Wind on the hill
And challenge the Fates unsparing
To conquer his desperate will.

A king once over his palace
The chords of a great harp strung,
And he drained to his Love a chalice
As the Wind its melody sung.
'T was a wild aeolian music,
And it swelled and rose and fell
As the woe and the mirth of the children of earth
Were twined in its masterful spell.

The Wind is as old as the mountains,
And over the world he roams;
He drinks fresh life at the fountains
Where the storm-clouds have their homes.
Oh he is a lusty fellow,
With his old heart fired with youth,
And as he leaps down mountain-steeps
He's the Spirit of Joy, in sooth!