A WIND comes from the north Blowing little flocks of birds Like spray across the town, And a train, roaring forth, Rushes stampeding down With cries and flying curds Of steam, out of the darkening north. Whither I turn and set Like a needle steadfastly, Waiting ever to get The news that she is free; But ever fixed, as yet, To the lode of her agony. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO W.P.: 2 by GEORGE SANTAYANA SATIRES OF CIRCUMSTANCE: 2. IN CHURCH by THOMAS HARDY THE CLERKS by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON LULLABY by VIRGINIA FRAZER BOYLE MASQUE AT THE MARRIAGE OF THE EARL OF SOMERSET: FOURTH SQUIRE by THOMAS CAMPION LINES WRITTEN IN WINDSOR PARK by CHARLES CHURCHILL INSCRIPTIONS FOR A SEAT BY THE ROAD SIDE HALF-WAY UP A STEEP HILL by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE |