A wild whir of wings thro' the woodland's browns hieing; A scurry of furry things, tossed windrows flying; A flurry of raindrops; the far wild geese crying— First-fruits of the spring time. The whirling gust billows Dead drifts over logs deep in hushed mossy pillows, Whips across the black pools with their banked sodden willows. And furred thing and whirred wing and woodcries together, The windrow and we—all the wild things together— Blow on thro' the woods and the weather, God's weather. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE ROPEWALK by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW WRAITH by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY SIT DOWN SAD SOUL by BRYAN WALLER PROCTER SONG OF THE OPEN ROAD by WALT WHITMAN THE DAWNING O' THE YEAR by MARY (MAY) ELIZABETH (MCGRATH) BLAKE RISUS DEI by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN |