Classic Poem

O wet-winged wind, still casting rain
On ground and on trees — Whence art thou?
And darkening day with danky clouds,
But out of what sea? Whence art thou?

And ruffling the waters thou hast shed
To lie in the hollows widely spread,
Or roll by the stream's o'erflooded bed,
O whence dost thou flee? Whence art thou?

Unroofing the house, and on the mound
Upwrenching the elm tree out of ground,
And drowning its crash with louder sound,
Thou rushest all free — Whence art thou?

Thou hurlest the ship (though great, yet small
To thee), on the strand in some great squall,
And drownest the drowning shipmen's call —
O, why must it be? Whence art thou?

I would I could seek, as trees may groan,
A room in a steadfast rock of stone,
To hear thee fly on as thou hast flown,
And care not to see whence art thou.

O sunshiny day, with cloudless sky,
O day with the land and woods all dry,
O day with thy air a lowly sigh,
Sweet day unto me, where art thou?

O day when the freely crumbling mould
Falls loose from the sull, or wheat long rolled
Now spears in the sunshine, though in cold,
O joy of the lea, where art thou?

And art thou far off, or art thou near,
And com'st thou to gild the early year,
Or dry the March dust, with weather clear
O'er children in glee? Where art thou?