WIND of the moor, breath of the vast free reaches, What is the mutable voice wherewith you cry? I listen and listen again, and I dream your speech is Freighted with whisper of lips from the days gone by. Ever at dawn of the day, or when sunsets darken, The murmur comes of strange, inscrutable things; And methinks that I often catch, what time I hearken, The rustle of feet and the beating of unseen wings. Wind of the moor, you are eldritch, aye, you are eerie! For all of the pain of the past can you find no cure? Rest for a little space, for my heart is weary, And would fain forget -- forget, oh, wind of the moor! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MILKING-MAID by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 91. LOST ON BOTH SIDES by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI THE MEDITATION OF THE OLD FISHERMAN by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS WISTFULNESS by KATHARINE ADAMS OUR BIRTH-CORD by KOFI ANYIDOHO LOVE'S BLINDNESS by ALFRED AUSTIN A NEW PILGRIMAGE: 25 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |