My song! It is time! Wider! Bolder! Spread the arms! Have done with finger pointing. Open windows even for the cold To come whistling in, blowing the curtains: We have looked out through glass Long enough, my song. Now, knowing the wind's knack, We can make little of daring: Has not laughter in the house corners Spoken of it -- the blind horse: Has not every chink whispered How she rides biting its ears, How she drives it in secret? Therefore my song -- bolder! Let in the wind! Open the windows! Embrace the companion That is whistling, waiting Impatiently to receive us! |