Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE WIND IN THE BOUGHS by CLINTON SCOLLARD

First Line: I HEAR THE BUGLER WIND AMID THE BOUGHS
Last Line: OF WHAT THESE TONGUES SHALL THREATEN? -- WHO CAN SAY?
Subject(s): PROPHECY & PROPHETS; WIND;
I HEAR the bugler Wind amid the boughs
Sounding tumultuous music, -- mighty notes
Resurgent as the surf-beat of the sea;
And while the supple branches sway thereto,
As in a vision I behold great hosts
Marching beneath the sun's gold oriflamme;
Not Timur's hordes, nor Attila's long lines,
Nor the dense legions of the Corsican,
Wan specters of the illimitable past,
But living men in motley multitudes, --
Pale peoples of the North with dull, deep eyes,
And swarthy sons from lands of oil and vine.

Through thy wide gateways, oh, beloved land,
They sweep unceasing. Is the bugler Wind,
Vociferous through his gamut of loud stops,
Prophetic of black menace? -- to deaf ears
Voicing full-throated warning of the time
When his tense tones shall seem but echoes faint
Of what these tongues shall threaten? -- Who can say?



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