Alone, I hear the wind about my walls
XVI
Alone, I hear the wind about my walls . . .
Wind of the city night, south-west and warm, —
Rain-burdened wind, your homely sound recalls
Youth; and a distant country-side takes form,
Comforting with memory-sight my town-taxed brain . . .
Wind from familiar fields and star-tossed trees,
You send me walking lonely through dark and rain
Before I'd lost my earliest ecstasies.
Wind of the city-lamps, you speak of home
And how into this homelessness I've come
Where all's uncertain but my will for power
To ask of life no more than life can earn . . .
Wind from the past, you bring me the last flower
From gardens where I'll nevermore return.
Alone, I hear the wind about my walls . . .
Wind of the city night, south-west and warm, —
Rain-burdened wind, your homely sound recalls
Youth; and a distant country-side takes form,
Comforting with memory-sight my town-taxed brain . . .
Wind from familiar fields and star-tossed trees,
You send me walking lonely through dark and rain
Before I'd lost my earliest ecstasies.
Wind of the city-lamps, you speak of home
And how into this homelessness I've come
Where all's uncertain but my will for power
To ask of life no more than life can earn . . .
Wind from the past, you bring me the last flower
From gardens where I'll nevermore return.
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