Classic Poem

Gray-Cowled wind of the east!
Grimly you chant your psalter,
The sea your wild high-priest
And the seething rocks your altar
On which, in fierce confusion
While sad stars hide their eyes,
You fling your dread profusion
Of human sacrifice.

And then, by hill and prairie
As one who strives for rest,
As seeking sanctuary,
Unhailed, unloved, unblest,
You still cry on, entraining
Your clouds of spectral hosts—
Shivering and complaining,
Eerie wind of the ghosts!