Classic Poem

The yellow fox
Has his bed in the rocks;
The brown bird, in the tree
Her nest has she;
But the wind, come forth
Of south and north,
Of east and west,
Where shall he rest?

The snake, the eft,
Slips into the cleft;
The marmot sleeps sound
In the under-ground;
But the wind of the hill
Is wandering still;
And the wind of the sea,
When sleepeth he?

The clouds of the air,
They slumber there;
Flowers droop the head,
And the leaves lie dead;
But the wind, the wind,
What rest shall he find?
When shall he roam
The wild road home?