Classic Poem

A GREAT wind blows through the pine trees,
A clean salt wind from sea,
A loud wind full of all healing
Blows kindly but boisterously;
Oh, a good wind blows through the pine trees
And the heart and mind of me!

A wind stirs the long grass lightly
And the dear young flowers of May,
And blows in the English meadows
The breath of a Summer's day—
But this wind rings with honour
And is wet with the cold sea spray.

There are straits where the tall ships founder
And no live thing may draw breath,
Where men look at splendid, angry skies
And hear what the thunder saith:
Where men look their last at glory
And bravely drink of death.

There is much afoot this evening
In these pine woods by the sea,
And no branch shall endure until morning
That is rotten on the tree—
Nor any decayed thing endure in my soul
When God's wind blows through me!